The Enlightment
by Green-over-blue
Summary: A young Legolas and his friends are thrown into a strange adventure. When he fails to return home, Thranduil worries after his lost son, and wonders if he is at fault. In a desperate search for the missing, he comes to some startling realizations.
1. The King of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.  
  
Hi, welcome to "The Enlightenment" – this is just an introduction, and there will hopefully be more soon.  
  
"The Enlightenment" follows a young Legolas and his friends who embark, quite by accident, on a strange adventure. As time passes and the young elfling and his friends fail to return, Thranduil begins to wonder if perhaps the cause of their disappearance is himself; and, thus, through much self-contemplation, angst, and work, Thranduil becomes a changed elf – for the most part.  
  
Well, that's about all I have to say for now. I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter One: The King of Mirkwood

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Thranduil Oropherion of Mirkwood was renowned as a great king among Elves. His stalwart will, firm hand, and knowledge of warfare alone kept his realm safe for so many centuries. Unlike the Lord of Imladris and the Lady of Lórien, he had no ring to aid him in the defence of his borders. He had only his people, and he led them well.  
  
Men and Elves alike quailed under his steel-blue gaze; his kingdom was one of the richest in all of Arda; the skill of his warriors was legendary; and even the mere mention of his name commanded respect. His golden hair was luxurious and full; his face, fair and stern; his posture regal. He was indeed the perfect picture of a most noble king.  
  
That is not to say, however, that the king was without his faults. In fact, he was as well known for them as he was for his more redeeming qualities – the countless storage rooms beneath his realm being a full testament to one of them. For they were so jam-packed to bursting with gold, jewels, mithril, pearls, and silver that even the greedy Smaug, with his vast hoard in the Lonely Mountain, would quake with jealousy if he knew of them. And it was just as well that he didn't; for the king placed a hefty price on these most treasured trinkets, and an angered Thranduil was indeed a force to be reckoned with, as temper was his chief fault and one that he succumbed to quite frequently for an Elven lord.  
  
As it were, his loud, angered voice was raised once again in a booming yell that echoed in every corridor of his palace, causing those within to cringe in sympathy for the fated young soul at whom it was directed.  
  
"LEGOLAS!!!!"

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That's all for now, but I hope to post very soon. Please review!  
  
Ethelewen


	2. An Evening’s Preparations

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing. I would thank you for not suing me - I need all the money I can get for my school fees.

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Melui: (my beta reader) Hi, thanks for reviewing! When can I expect your next chapters?  
  
farflung: Wow. You are my first real reviewer ever. You put my story on your favourites list?! Thank you so much, you've no idea how much that means to me! Also, thank you for the encouragement regarding my academic pursuits - I definitely need it!  
  
HPLadyBelle: Yeah, I thought the Smaug thing was cute - I couldn't resist mentioning him, as I loved The Hobbit so much. Thank you so much for putting my story on your favourites list! This really does mean a lot to me because, in my opinion, it's not the quantity of reviews you get, but the quality, and this, for me, is high.  
  
Sirnonenath: Thank you! Well, Legolas did get into quite a bit of trouble, and it'll only get worse! I'm trying to keep as close to the old style of the novels as possible, and it's due, in part, to this that the story is taking a while to write - it's easy to start in that language, but hard to keep it! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that I didn't slip up!  
  
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Chapter Two: An Evening's Preparations 

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The air was crisp and cool, and fresh blossoms and budding leaves dappled the trees as birds sung joyously in the first throws of spring. Little black squirrels, bounding excitedly through the highest boughs of the tallest trees, chattered gaily whilst golden shafts of sunlight peeked shyly through the closely-knit branches, illuminating the ground beneath where tiny insects buzzed happily in the warmth. It was a fine day to be alive, and, for one golden-haired little elfling, a fine day for adventure.  
  
Legolas Thranduilion, youngest prince of Mirkwood, had woken early that morning in high spirits. Though he was known most undoubtedly as a morning elfling and, therefore, wonted to rise in such cheery dispositions, today was different; for as he rose from his bed and dressed hurriedly into his favourite green tunic and brown leggings, he felt a certain pull at the back of his stomach - an exhilaration of sorts; a longing for wondrous things yet to come. Perhaps it was due to the infectious air of delight that seemed to waft about on the soft spring breezes just outside his window, or to the fact that today was the day he and his friends had been planning for a month. Mayhap, he thought, as he made his way clumsily across the room with the effort of pulling on his shoes, it was both.  
  
He reached the door to his chamber, eager to start the day, and put out his hand to grasp the handle. Today was the day, he thought as a smile crept on to his face. At last their plan could be set into motion. It was the day of The Party.  
  
His friend, a young she-elfling named Lothwen, was celebrating her twenty-fifth begetting day tomorrow, but since she was to be with her family, Legolas had opted to throw her a surprise party the day before. A laugh rose in his throat at the thought of how thrilled she would be. There was going to be sweet tea, cakes, berries, decorations, games, and gifts - it was going to be the best party in all of Arda. And it was his job to get the decorations.  
  
He paused in mid pull and frowned. Dropping his arm to his side, he stepped back and sighed, disappointment shadowing his fair features. It had been a week ago today that It had happened, and still he was confined within the palace walls with naught to do but pour over thick tomes of ancient elvish lore. It was but a simple prank! Surely his father was over reacting; Galion's hair was no longer a violent shade of purple (it was now a most becoming lilac), his limp had all but vanished, and the healers said that his eye should stop twitching any day now. And, truly, when one thought about it, Legolas was not entirely at fault. How was he to know that wild berries, lembas, baby squirrels, and his father's most potent wine should not be mixed?  
  
It was a simple mistake that anyone could have made, and it just so happened that he had been the first. In fact, as his friend Roccondil had said, he should be thanked, for if it were not for him, none would have known the disastrous results of such a mixture and would have remained forever ignorant. If the worth of knowledge rivalled that of mithril, then, truly, he had enriched the lives of the Elves of Middle-earth with his discovery  
  
Yes. He was most certainly not at fault. Then, why should he remain in captivity – a prisoner of his own home, fated to waste away until all the world was bare and worn and his very sanity had fled? _'No,'_ he thought, _'that is no fate for a strong and brave warrior such as myself!'_ The conclusion of this wearisome punishment was long past due – it was time he got back out into the world. And he would. His customary grin back in place, Legolas opened the door with renewed gusto and stepped out into the hall.  
  
Creeping stealthily down the corridor, he made a list of what he would need to make the decorations for Lothwen's party. Since it was to be held outdoors in a small, circular clearing by the forest river, he would need such decorations as could be hung from the trees and, perhaps, float in the water. Garlands of flowers were his best bet, as the young Lady had a special fondness for the delicate flora, and was often seen lacing them into her hair and placing them about the homes of her relatives and friends. He would also need tablecloths, something in which to wrap his gift for her, and some candles - the party would start at noon, and hopefully continue until past dark.  
  
Presently, the soft sound of bubbling water drifted up the high tree in which the hall had been built. _'I must be almost at he gardens,'_ he thought to himself. _'I should look for the flowers first.'_ The young elfling smiled and chose a path that would lead him to the ground below, heading for the palace gardens.

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Galion groaned as his left eye gave a spasmodic twitch, and rubbed it with the heel of his hand. Although his condition was most definitely improving – the tics had diminished from being almost constant to three or four an hour – it was still greatly annoying. And to make matters worse, he feared that he was beginning to suffer from paranoia; snapping twigs in the forest, sudden noises, quiet laughter drifting on the breeze...all would have him starting and whipping around, a wild look in his frantically twitching eyes. _'What has become of me?'_ He thought miserably, _'I have been reduced to a paranoid, insane butler with a spastic eye, a limp, and light purple hair! And it is all because of one elfling; nay, a demon - a demon in the guise of an angel.'  
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He sighed and pulled a bottle of wine from the kitchen cupboard; it was not that he disliked Legolas. In fact, he found that the young prince could be quite endearing...when asleep. Galion knew that the young elf would never be purposely cruel, or harm anything save the servants of darkness, but he was beginning to think that there was perhaps something wrong with the child's mind. Truly, anyone who played so many tricks and was punished so frequently would grow tired of such games. Not Legolas. It seemed that the greater the punishment he received, the greater, more elaborate would be his next prank. It was a never-ending cycle; Thranduil would yell himself hoarse, and young Legolas would hang his head, contrite, and then depart for his chambers, seemingly having learned his lesson. Then, in the weeks (and, in some cases, months) that followed, he would perform the duties of his punishment until he was released. And it was then that he began his troublesome ways anew.  
  
Truth be told, everyone in the palace was at their wits end – none knew what to do with the young prince. They certainly could not send him to spend time in Imladris with the wise Lord Elrond, nor could they send him to the Lady of Lórien; for though it was assured that he would be welcomed into their realms, the elves of Mirkwood were quite fond of the golden- haired pest, and did not truly wish to part with him. He was kind, polite, considerate, and gentle, and, when he was behaving, a joy to be around. If only he would learn to control himself, to see that he need not cease his fun altogether, but merely tone it down.  
  
They knew that they could expect no more of him than that, as Legolas had always been an adventuresome elfling, basking in the thrill of the chase, the elated feeling borne of a successful, well-thought out plan. But what troubled them was how he had changed: In the past, he knew when to stop, what was too much, and what truly was funny and harmless. What had once been a well-defined line between a prank and a serious offence had become smudged and hazy.  
  
_'Valar, what are we to do with this child?'_ Galion pleaded to the ceiling. _'This simply cannot continue - it will drive all of Mirkwood mad!'_ He placed the bottle on a sturdy oak table and set five water skins down beside it. Eye twitching once more, he filled up the vessels, replaced their lids, and set them back on the table. They were for Thavron, the apprentice of Mirkwood's chief carpenter, who was departing that night on a trip to Imladris with his comrades in the hopes of acquiring some new skills. Galion had, of course, questioned him on the safety of making merry whilst on such a journey, but the elf had assured him that the wine was to be used sparingly, and only in celebration of a fellow traveler's begetting day. Appeased, Galion had agreed to fulfill their wish.  
  
"Galion?"  
  
He started wildly and spun around, heart racing, eyes frantic and twitching. The elf in front of him stepped back, looking at him as though he were mad and had sprouted an extra limb from his left ear.  
  
"Dínendír!" Galion screeched, his voice unnaturally high. "You accursed fool! Are you _trying_ to send me to my grave?!" _'Curse him and his silent steps!'  
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"Nay," Dínendír's expression relaxed and became inscrutable. "I assure you I would do no such thing. I am merely here at the request from my young friend. He would that you prepare some sweet tea for a celebration."  
  
"Oh?" Galion said, his eyebrow rising in suspicion. He crossed his arms, greatly annoyed at the elf for the intrusion and at himself for having acted in such an embarrassing manner. "And what celebration is this? I have not heard of it," he snapped rudely.  
  
"He would not say, for it is of a most secret nature." The elf continued, unfazed, "I know only that he wishes for five bottles, and that he will fetch them later, when time permits."  
  
"Well," Galion replied indignantly, "if you two insist on keeping me in the dark, then I'm afraid that you will have to make do with water skins - I refuse to risk the King's bottles for some foolish game. They will be waiting for your young friend on the table should he deign to fetch them."  
  
"Thank you, Galion," Dínendír said with a bow, then turned and left the kitchen.  
  
Galion stared after him for a while, glaring hot daggers at the retreating back. _'I am the servant of the King and royal family,'_ he thought, taking a glass and pouring himself some wine. _'It is not my duty to cater to every whim of the entire populace!'_ He gulped it, his nerves calming, and, feeling a slight pang of guilt at behaving so rudely, began to prepare the tea. 

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That's it for now, I'm sorry it's so short - I was going to write more, but I'm too tired and I'm having trouble registering for my courses. I will post the next chapter soon, though, as it's already planned out in my head for the most part. Please review!

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Ethelewen 


	3. When Plans Go Astray

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.

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Melui: Thank you! I love Legolas, too.  
  
farflung: Thank you. Yes, Legolas cares deeply for his friends - even when it means he gets to cut his punishments short. I'm sure you can imagine his sacrifice ) . Yes, poor Galion. The young elves (along with myself) certainly do enjoy torturing him! And don't worry, you'll find out about the skins soon enough.  
  
PokethePenguin: Thanks! Yes, I love stories about young Legolas, too. That's why I wanted my first fanfic to be one.  
  
Ash49: Thank you for the review, and especially the compliment! I'm blushing! To tell you the truth, I did, in fact, know that elves celebrated their Begetting Day (I'd read it a while ago), but I couldn't remember what it was called. And I didn't think that I should have Legolas throwing a party for "the day Lothwen was conceived," because it sounded really weird. Thank you so much for telling me what it was called - it was driving me crazy, and I felt so bad for posting it as it was. Yes, I couldn't resist making fun of Galion. From what I've read in The Hobbit, he just seems to be that kind of elf! Thanks again!  
  
Sirnonenath: Thanks! I don't think that I could send Legolas away, either. I hope I kept up to your expectations on my language usage - I, too, don't like stories that sound choppy, so I try to avoid it wherever possible. You should be seeing Lothwen in the next chapter. No, I am not following the age described in the movie - Legolas just didn't seem that old to me in the book. He is about twenty-four years old in this story, so that makes him just over nine in human years, while Lothwen is turning ten. Also, I wanted the forest to be at least a little bit dangerous for a group of young elflings, and I thought that if I made the forest Greenwood the Great, as I'd originally planned, it would be much too safe. Thanks again! 

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Chapter Three: When Plans Go Astray 

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Legolas stepped cautiously into the palace gardens, sharp eyes sweeping the area for any sign of another presence. When his gaze reached the centre of the grounds, it rested upon a beautiful grey stone fountain shaped in the likeness of a fair elven maiden. Her long hair flowed down her back in delicate waves; her full lips were curved in a gentle smile; and upon her forehead, just above bright, expressive eyes filled with joy, love, and mirth, rested a thin mithril circlet of flowers and shining jewels. The maiden was looking fondly down into her elegant outstretched hands, where her long fingers curved to cup a tiny silver sparrow. About the hem of her gown lay many smooth stones of different hues, and from between the gaps a steady flow of crystalline water bubbled and fell, making its way down the pedestal and into the pool below, where water lilies floated happily in the bright sun.  
  
Legolas walked slowly up the curving path, past rosebushes, flowers, and intricately shaped trees, and, arriving at the fountain, he stopped. The elf reached out his hand to touch the white lilies that bordered the now-circling path, and looked up into the fair face of the statue; he smiled wistfully as he felt a pang in his chest. His mother had always loved lilies.  
  
"Good morning, Naneth," he let his hand fall to his side, and, moving toward the fountain, softly caressed the smooth stone of the Lady's dress. Although it appeared cold and hard at first glance, his hand met with gentle warmth. "I know it's been a long time since I've come to see you, but Adar is being difficult again. He wouldn't let me leave my room for a week!" A soft wind swept past his hair, lifting it into his face where it caressed his pale cheek. "No, I'm still being punished," he said sullenly, "but today is Lothwen's party, and Faelon and I have been planning it for so long that it didn't seem right for me to miss it. Besides, he said that he didn't want to have the party if I wasn't there, and I wouldn't want Lothwen to think we didn't care about her begetting day."  
  
A bird chirped in one of the trees, and Legolas started as the purpose of his trip came back to mind. "I have to get flowers for Lothwen," he said, looking once more into the face of the statue. "Faelon said that he would show me how to make garlands from them, and that we could hang them from the trees - but he said that I must not pick just anything, for they have to match well with each other," he shook his head and laughed lightly and the memory of his friend's insistence. "He truly is strange. Nevertheless, though, I thought roses and daisies might be nice...and lilies, too," Legolas looked imploringly up at his mother, and it seemed as though the stone beneath his palm grew warmer. His face lit up in a bright smile, "I promise not to take too many!"  
  
With that, Legolas busied himself about the garden, picking the flowers his mother had so loved and the white lilies that she had adored. And finally, when he was done, he returned to the silent stone maiden and reverently placed a single white bloom by her feet.

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Now more than a little intoxicated, Galion placed the jug of fresh sweet tea on the oak table beside two wine bottles. He poured the liquid into the skins, and, misjudging the capacity of the fifth, giggled as the contents overflowed and sloshed onto the table, forming a small puddle. Gasping dramatically and with a panicked yelp of "My table!" he wiped fervently at the mess with a white silk cloth from his pocket. The butler froze, and, looking down at the refined fabric, gasped in horror once more. However, this proved once too many, and the poor elf was immediately assailed by a string of choking coughs.  
  
Gripping the table for support, tears pooling in his swollen red eyes, Galion struggled for breath as the burning sensation slowly ebbed away. With one last cough, he straightened and smoothed out his tunic in what was supposed to be a dignified manner, and took up the cloth from where it had fallen on the table. "Ai," he whimpered, "my handkerchief has been besmirched!" Giggling hysterically, Galion wobbled out of the kitchen to clean it.  
  
A loud crash echoed from the adjacent room, and Galion hobbled back into the kitchen, his hair tussled, and a dazed look in his eyes. He limped to the table and looked down at the ten water skins before him. Frowning, he poked at his chin, his expression thoughtful. A moment passed and with a soft "Ah!" Galion scooped up the first five and placed them on the opposite counter. He then reached into his tunic and pulled out a leaf of parchment, and plucked a quill from the kitchen drawer. In an unruly scrawl, he wrote:  
  
Thavron.

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Earlier that morning...

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He could hear the soft birdsong as it drifted faintly in through his window, and the steady rhythm of the trees' breaths; he could feel the soft morning breeze caressing his cheek and playing in his hair. A quiet smile tugged at his lips as the exquisite smell of honey, cinnamon, eggs, berries, and fresh warm bread wafted into his room. He sighed happily, willing his eyes to clear from his elvish dreams, when he heard the faint padding of running feet. The sound became clearer and suddenly his door was thrown open with a loud crash, followed by an excited squeal of "Wake up!"  
  
Something hard landed on his stomach, and he gasped, jerking awake. Staring at him were two large, sparkling deep-blue eyes.  
  
"Faelon!" The melodic voice giggled, "Nana says it's time for breakfast!"  
  
"All right, all right," Faelon sighed, attempting to free himself. "I was already awake, you know, Dinnulín. You did not need to attack me."  
  
"I didn't!" Her lips pouted indignantly and she rose and sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned in until their noses nearly met, and whispered conspiratorially: "Today is the day, Faelon! Y-you didn't forget, did you?" Her face was stricken.  
  
"Of course not," he smiled warmly and raised his hand to pet her head. "I was just enjoying the morning for but a moment more. You had best go and eat, Dinnu; you would not want Ada to use all of the honey."  
  
"Oh, no!" A flash of panic appeared in her blue eyes and she turned to run out of the room, but she stopped at the doorway: "And don't take forever to get ready, Faelon - I want to go see Legolas!" She sent him a warning glare, and, raven hair trailing behind her, sprinted from the room.  
  
Faelon rolled his eyes and rose from the bed, moving to his dresser where he pulled out various pairs of leggings and tunics. Looking down at them, he frowned, _'Legolas said the table cloth would be a light green.'_ He removed two blue tunics, _'I certainly can't wear those!'  
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The young elf entered the kitchen an hour later, much to the aggravation of his little sister. His chestnut hair was meticulously combed and braided, and each garment matched and complemented the other; he wore deep forest-green leggings, brown shoes, and a light green tunic with embroidered silver leaves.  
  
"You look very handsome, ion nín," his mother said, bending down to kiss his cheek. "May I inquire as to the occasion?"  
  
"One does not need an occasion to look one's best, nana," he replied with a smile, taking a loaf of bread from the table. "Are you coming Dinnu?"  
  
The two elves made their way toward the homes near Mirkwood's caves, Dinnulín chattering happily about Lothwen's surprise party. She and her brother were in charge of getting the food and drink, and Dinnulín was determined to fulfill the task to the best of her ability. It was just as the young Lady was listing her plans for dessert that the two arrived at their destination; a great oak tree, encircled by a set of winding stairs leading to a large building nestled in the sturdy boughs. A lazy stream of smoke escaped from a small chimney, and floated up to drift away on the breeze.  
  
"He's home, Faelon," Dinnulín smiled at the sight and gave her brother's hand a small tug. "I knew he would be!"  
  
They climbed the stairs and, reaching the door, Faelon knocked softly. A moment later the door opened and a tall, dark-haired elf with deep brown eyes greeted them.  
  
"Dínendír!" Dinnulín crowed happily and embraced the elf's midsection.  
  
"Mae govannen, Dinnulín," he had a soft, pleasant voice and a ready smile. "To what do I owe the honour?"  
  
They moved past the threshold and into the warm home. It was a large, handsome dwelling with many open windows, and a small fireplace at the opposite end. There were few furnishings to be had, but those that were had been carefully crafted of fine wood and skilfully decorated. Resting on shelves about the room were many delicate glass sculptures.  
  
"I have a gift for you," Dínendír said, smiling warmly at Dinnulín as he took a small figure from the shelf. "I know how much you like them."  
  
The young she-elf beamed as he handed her a small glass bird. It gazed up at her with tiny eyes, and as the light from the fire hit it, the little creature seemed almost to be alive. She gasped out a quiet thank you and hugged the elf once more.  
  
"You know, Dínendír," said Faelon with a light laugh, "she is getting quite a collection of these little sculptures - soon you will run out of animals!"  
  
"Then I shall have to move to flowers," he smiled. "But you still have not answered my question."  
  
"Oh, yes. We were wondering if you would do us but a small favour," he said, glancing at his little sister, who was cuddling happily with the tiny bird.  
  
"And what might this favour be, mellon nín?"  
  
"Well," Faelon looked back at the tall elf, "Dinnu and I were wondering if you could get Galion to make us some sweet tea. But it is for a most secret reason, so I cannot tell you why."  
  
"Why do the two of you not do it?"  
  
"Well, you see," the young elf's cheeks brightened, "Galion is rather put out with us – Legolas played a trick on him again – and I know he will not give us the tea because he will think that it is for him, and so we came to ask you. We knew that you would do it because you're the nicest elf in Mirkwood ...So if you could just ask him, we can pick it up later."  
  
"Then who am I to refuse such a request?" Dínendír said, trying not to smile.  
  
"Thank you, Dínen!" Dinnulín cried as she jumped up to embrace him. "You're such a nice elf!"  
  
"Is that all that you require, my young friends?" He asked as he smiled down at the child.  
  
"Yes, thank you," said Faelon.  
  
"Then I had best be off. I have much to do today." With that, he walked to the door and held it open for them, and the elves took their leave.  
  
Walking down the path, Faelon turned to his little sister, "Where to now, tithen muinthel?"

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"Naneth" – mother  
  
"Nana" – mom, mommy, etc  
  
"Adar" – father  
  
"Ada" – dad, daddy, etc  
  
"Ion nín" – My son  
  
"Mae govannen" – Well met. It's a form of greeting among elves, for those of you who don't know.  
  
"Mellon nín" – My friend  
  
"Tithen muinthel" – Little sister

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Next chapter: We will at last get to meet Lothwen, I promise, and the plans will finally start to "go astray" as the title promised, but has not yet delivered. 

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Thanks for reading! 

Ethelewen


	4. “Does Anyone Else Find This Tea Tastes S...

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.  
  
Sorry this took so long. Everything that could have gone wrong did. I caught a cold, my computer with the internet had to go in the shop (luckily I write on another one), and there were two consecutive, ten- second power shortages because of the cold - welcome to Canada. Even though it gave me a heart attack, at least my lovely computer was nice enough to do an emergency restore for me, and I didn't lose eight pages of work! But, needless to say, I'm stressed, and now save every five minutes.  
  
Melui: You're a strange one you know that? :) I'm just kidding. You really think it was that good? Thanks, that means a lot to me! Thank you for the review, and for looking over this and the last chapter. I always make the strangest mistakes; I sometimes wonder where my brain is when I write...  
  
Sirnonenath: I'm glad you like Dinnulín. She is an easy character to work with; she just seems to write herself. Though I must admit I was a bit concerned about her hugging so much, but when I thought back to all the time I spent watching kindergarteners during their lunch hour, I realized that she isn't too farfetched - I could hardly go a minute without one child or another latching onto me! Kids that age are so affectionate; I once babysat a six-year-old who, within a week, was calling me her mother and telling me she loved me. It was actually quite embarrassing. Especially with all the looks I got when I took her to the park! The answer to your question is at the end of the chapter. Also, I'm glad you like my other OC's; I worked really hard on them. Thank you so much for the great review!  
  
farflung: Yes, Galion does seem to learn things the hard way when it comes to his alcohol. Then again, maybe he hasn't learned anything at all! Thank you for the review, they really make my day. And you'll be pleased to know that Lothwen finally makes her first appearance. I hope you like her!  
  
Tara: I'm so sorry that I can't remember you! But don't take it personally - I think I was in a daze last semester, especially in that gym class from hell. I'm so glad it's over! If you see me in the hall at school, please say hi. Not knowing who you are is driving me mad and making me feel so guilty! Thank you for the review. I'm glad you could get over your Legolas daze long enough to read my story, but to help you through the later chapters (if you read them), remember he's only a little elf in this, and though I'm sure he's still a cutie, he hasn't matured into that bow- twanging, elf-embodiment of hotness quite yet!

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And now, without further ado... 

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Chapter Four: "Does Anyone Else Find This Tea Tastes Strange...?" 

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The palace kitchens were deathly quiet. The leaf-and-berry embroidered curtains ruffled in a soft, soundless breeze, and numerous pots and pans gleamed brightly on the walls.  
  
Faelon shivered as he made his way silently into the room, his sister clutching tightly at the base of his tunic. "Where do you suppose everyone is, Dinnu?" He whispered.  
  
The young maiden tore her eyes from the half-open pantry at the other end of the room. A dark shadow spilled ominously from it. "M-maybe they . . . were eaten?"  
  
"Dinnulín," he said, looking concerned, "you're not afraid are you?"  
  
"_No!_" She shouted, her voice echoing off the walls and making her jump. "I- I was only joking!"  
  
"Of course you were," he smiled and shook his head. "How silly of me."  
  
"Quite."  
  
He took her hand and walked to the counter by the window, searching for the bottles of sweet tea that they had come to retrieve. "I don't think Galion would have put them in the cupboard," he muttered to himself as he walked about the room. He paused, and, feeling Dinnulín bump into him with a soft "oof," scanned the room. He took in the stoves, basins, and ovens - all deftly cleaned and bare of any objects. Then, at the far end of the room, close to a door-less portal leading into a hall, he saw a great oaken table, and, beside it, yet another small length of counter. Upon both surfaces lay five water skins. He looked down at Dinnulín, and the two moved stealthily closer, trying to make as little noise as possible.  
  
When they arrived at the counter, Faelon plucked a small piece of yellowed parchment from atop the brownish skins, and quickly read it: "The note says that they're for Thavron," he said as he carefully replaced the paper. "Good, I had worried that that was what Galion had put our tea in. Could you imagine?" He laughed softly and looked to his sister, who had moved to inspect the skins on the table.  
  
She was straining on her tiptoes to reach yet another small paper, and grunted in satisfaction as one last stretch allowed her to enclose it in her tiny fist. Straightening it out, Dinnulín stared at it, a look of deep concentration shadowing her fair face. Faelon watched in amusement as her brow furrowed, and a small pink tongue peeked from between her lips. "Um..."  
  
"Can you not read it, tithen muinthel?" He asked as he walked up to her.  
  
"No, it's not that," she looked up at him, putting out her palm for him to take the note. "It's too messy!"  
  
Faelon took it and winced at what he saw. Upon the parchment were many black squiggles (what he supposed were failed attempts at letters) and tiny scattered blotches of ink. "Whoever wrote this was either greatly lacking in mind and dexterity, or he tried to write with his mouth," his brow furrowed in disgust and he moved to hold the paper with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. _'I certainly hope it wasn't the second.'_ "Well," he continued, his eyes moving across the parchment, "I think I can make out a bit. Yes! I believe that squiggle there says 'tea,' and those near the edge are most definitely 'waste my,' " he skipped an unintelligible few lines, nearing the end of the note. "Does that one say 'handkerchief'? How odd. Hmm . . ." he was silent for a moment, then: "And those near the bottom say 'impudent little' and . . ." his eyes widened and a blush rose on his cheeks. "Well! That was uncalled-for!"  
  
"What?" Dinnulín asked as she gripped his tunic, eyes wide. "What does it say?"  
  
"Never mind," he said quickly. "It doesn't matter anyway – this is the tea." He sighed sadly and was silent for a moment. Then, quite suddenly, a look of panicked horror came upon his face and, with a swift intake of breath, he went on in a high voice, "Ai! What are we going to do? We cannot serve Lothwen with such appalling things! And they will most certainly clash with the tablecloth, the candles...with everything!" He paused. "...Alas that such a terrible thing should happen..." Faelon trailed off morosely and slumped, dejected, into one of the chairs by the table.  
  
"Oh, don't be sad, Muindor!" Dinnulín pleaded and clasped his hands between her own. "It'll still be a very fun party, and Lothwen won't mind about the skins. She hasn't cared about that stuff before." She smiled at him reassuringly, "And we can still get pretty glasses to put it in!"  
  
"You're right," Faelon said, looking up to meet her eyes, "But I would have liked the tea to be in bottles. Like the wine at the feasts..." then, shaking his head lightly as though to clear it, he moved his hands from between Dinnulín's and grasped hers. "Still...we shouldn't let this ruin the party. What's life without obstacles, anyway? No. It will be fine!" He looked over her head, his face set in determination. "We shall get the most beautiful glasses in all of Mirkwood! And they shall be so lovely that the fair Lothwen will overlook these hideous skins and her face will shine with joy!"  
  
"That's the spirit, muindor nín!" Dinnulín laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew that you would think of something!"  
  
Suddenly, Faelon shot up from the chair: "Legolas said that he was going to try to bring lilies and roses," he said excitedly as he went about the kitchen, searching through the cupboards. "But Lothwen likes daisies the most – I do hope he remembers – and so we should get glasses with flowers on them – to keep with the theme. Mayhap they should be green like the tablecloth? Or would that be too much? No, they should definitely be clear . . ."  
  
Dinnulín smiled happily as she watched him. _'I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful muindor,'_ she thought fondly, giggling as Faelon pulled glass upon glass out from the cupboards, muttering about how they were just "not right." _'Eilianu's brother never plays with her. And he's not sweet and funny like Faelon is.'  
_  
"Faelon?"  
  
"Yes, Dinnu?" He asked, turning to face her, a small cup in each hand.  
  
"Le melin."

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* * *

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The late-morning sun shone brightly above the trees of Mirkwood, its warm rays passing easily through the young leaves and fresh spring buds to form shimmering pools of light on the earth below. The smell of flowers wafted pleasantly on the light breeze, while the distant sound of elvish song and laughter could be heard amid the jovial birdsong.  
  
Legolas breathed deeply as he made his way slowly through the forest, a lazy smile tugging at his lips and contrasting oddly with the faint grimace that shadowed his features. He carried what appeared to be a large, lumpy green sack that shimmered faintly whenever it caught the sun. It was slung over his right shoulder, forcing him to hunch slightly and making his steps fall short and slow. Yet, it was not as though it were excessively heavy; rather, it was the sheer shape and size of the thing that caused the young prince such trouble. The sack was much too long and bulky, nearly dragging on the forest floor albeit the thick wad of material clutched tightly in the boy's fist, and odd-shaped bulges were scattered about its surface, a few bumping painfully against Legolas' back, causing him to wince and squirm.  
  
When the sound of the swift-flowing Forest River met his ears, he altered his path and headed towards it. Once it came into view, he did his best to increase his pace, eager to reach the party site. After what seemed like an eternity, he at last broke through the tree line into the small circular clearing by the river, and was greeted with a joyous cry of "Legolas!"  
  
He smiled, letting the sack fall softly to the ground, and watched as a young black-haired elfling came running up to him. "Mae govannen, Dinnu," he laughed as she hugged him. "I see you three have started." He looked up and watched as Faelon and another young elf, dressed in black leggings and a sienna tunic, carried a table into the centre of the clearing. "When did Roccondil get here?"  
  
"Just before," Dinnulín said and Legolas rolled his eyes. "He brought chairs and a table, and even a raft with tiny boats!"  
  
"Tiny boats?"  
  
"Aye," said the elf of their discussion. "Tiny boats," Roccondil moved up beside Legolas and, smiling cheekily, lifted the bag from the ground, only to put it down by his own feet. He had lengthy grey-blonde hair and deep brown eyes, and his face was long, thin and well shaped. His mother hailed from Lothlórien, and his father was a Noldor born and raised in Mirkwood, thus providing his contrasting features with a strangely exotic handsomeness. "I thought that we could put some candles in them and sail them down the river."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For fun," he replied, looking at Legolas as though he were an idiot. "Why else?"  
  
"It is about time, mellon nín," Faelon interrupted. "I was begging to fear that you would never get here, and that I would be forced to lift all of this furniture by myself!"  
  
"I was helping you!" Roccondil said indignantly.  
  
"You dropped the table on my foot, Roccondil."  
  
"I lifted it off! And you're fine now anyway..."  
  
Dinnulín giggled and moved to stand next to Faelon. "Did you bring the flowers, Legolas?" She asked, eyeing the green sack.  
  
"Yes," he answered, taking his eyes from Faelon's foot and meeting Dinnulín's. "And I brought candles, too. The tablecloth is the bag."  
  
"What?!" Faelon yelped. "Legolas! What are you doing putting it on the ground then? It's going to be filthy!" He grabbed at the sack and lifted it hurriedly into the air.  
  
"It is _fine_ Faelon," Roccondil said. "There is no need to have a fit."  
  
Faelon ignored him and proceeded to inspect the bag. He looked up at Legolas, "Where did you get this? It is very fine. But...are those...rabbits and squirrels about the edges? That seems rather odd for a table cloth..."  
  
"Yes, well, umm..." Legolas trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.  
  
"Legolas," Faelon said with a rising sense of foreboding, "where did you get it?"  
  
"It's my adar's coverlet."  
  
"_What?!_" Faelon choked out, eyes bulging.  
  
"He won't miss it," Legolas said uneasily, watching Roccondil, who was laughing uncontrollably.  
  
"Your adar has _bunnies_ on his coverlet?!" He dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Ai, Legolas – is he going to kill you!"  
  
"Well," said Legolas, looking once more at the bedspread-turned- bag, "it was the nicest sheet in the house, and I liked it better than the tablecloths." The material was indeed beautiful; it was a light, silken green embroidered with silver thread. Tiny leaves and flowers flowed along it, connected by slender vines, and miniature rabbits and squirrels bounded along the edges, adding a handsome finishing touch. "Besides, Lothwen loves flowers and animals, so it is perfect for her."  
  
"But your ada will be angry, Legolas," Dinnulín said sadly.  
  
"He is always angry with me. And even if he punishes me, it won't matter because it'll be worth it."  
  
"If you're sure, Legolas," Faelon looked at him, his eyes questioning, "because it isn't too late to put it back. We could just use something else..."  
  
"No, I don't care. This is perfect for the table."  
  
Faelon nodded, defeated, as Roccondil took the sack from him and brought it to the table. Soon, the four elves were pulling out candles, candlesticks, and handfuls of flowers. Then, as Roccondil placed the silver candlesticks about the clearing, set and tied the raft in the water, and placed chairs around the table, Faelon showed Legolas and a very excited Dinnulín how to craft flower garlands: "There isn't much time, so you have to go quickly, Dinnu!"  
  
It was mid-afternoon when the elves had finally finished decorating the clearing, and the four stood back to admire their work. In the centre was the large rectangular table covered with the King's bedclothes and laden with candles, dried fruits, bread, cheese, honey, and, in the middle, a round white cake decorated (a little clumsily, but charming nonetheless) with tiny icing flora and vines. Five chairs were placed around the table, with the one at the head decorated with ribbons and a silken pillow. Draped from tree bough to tree bough were beautiful (for the most part – Dinnulín's and Legolas' first few attempts were slightly lopsided) garlands of roses, lilies, and daisies. The raft, bobbing in the swift-flowing water, held five tiny boats with candles set into them. And all about the clearing the silver shafts of candlesticks glinted, waiting eagerly for the sun to set so that their full splendour could be shown.  
  
"It's beautiful," Dinnulín's awed voiced broke the silence.  
  
The three other elflings nodded in agreement. 

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* * *

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The young maiden searched the tree boughs as she walked down the forest path, a slip of parchment clasped in her hand. She paused a moment when the sound of running water reached her ears, and raised the note to read it once more.  
  
_"Meld Lothwen,  
  
"How are you? And your family? I am well, though recently Dinnulín spilt berry juice on my favourite tunic, and I must admit that I am feeling a bit gloomy. But such accidents cannot be helped when one is around my muinthel, and that is most certainly not why I am writing to you.  
  
"I am writing to ask that you meet me tomorrow, in the late afternoon, in the small clearing by the Forest River – you know, the place where Roccondil made Legolas wear your dress that one time. There is something that I wish to show you.  
  
"Garo daw vaer, elei velui  
  
"Faelon"  
_  
She smiled and stepped off the path, making her way towards the sound. _'I wonder if he has a begetting day gift for me. I hope so – his gifts are always so brilliant.'_ The year before, he had given her a tiny tree that he had said his father had brought back from a place called the Shire. He had given it to her in the winter, two months before her begetting day, because he had wanted her to see it bloom in the spring. Lothwen had waited impatiently for the two months to pass, and when the snow had finally melted and the birds returned from their travels, she had not been disappointed.  
  
In the first weeks of spring, she had watched as tiny buds appeared on the thin boughs, waiting for them to open and greet the world. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, she had woken up one morning to a most wondrous sight. There, sitting on her dresser, was her little tree in all its splendour; the buds had opened to reveal stunning, tiny pink blossoms with a perfume so sweet that she felt gifted with a taste of Valinor. For weeks she had revelled in their scent, and it was with a sense of dread that she watched the last days of the season slip slowly away. She did not want to see the little flowers that she so loved wither and die. But when the last days of spring were upon her, she found that her fears were for naught; where she had expected sorrow and faded blossoms, she was met only with further joy, albeit bittersweet.  
  
The tiny flowers did not wither and die. Rather, they simply fell. They fell from the boughs in graceful, dancing whirls, landing softly upon the floor. And whenever a strong breeze came in through her window, the tree would let fly a torrent of fragrant pink petals and she would stand amid them, basking in their beauty and in the feel of their softness against her pale skin.  
  
And in the summer she was surprised yet again. For upon the branches where the beloved flowers had once dwelled were now small, plump red fruits that made her smile in delight when she ate them.  
  
Lothwen smiled at the memories. Faelon had given her a gift of beauty that was truly everlasting.  
  
Stopping suddenly, she blinked in shock. There before her, in the once-bare clearing, was a most strange and wonderful sight: Flowers and ribbons, food, candles, and beautiful decorations...  
  
"Surprise!" Came a chorus of shouts as four elflings jumped from behind the trees.  
  
Lothwen yelped and started, the parchment falling from her limp fingers.  
  
"Happy Begetting Day, Lothwen!" Dinnulín shouted excitedly, bounding towards her.  
  
Lothwen caught the child up in a hug as the others came to greet her. She soon found herself in the middle of a chaotic elfling huddle, where she was repeatedly pulled into embraces from all sides and wishes of "Happy Begetting Day!" seemed to flow in a never-ending echo. She felt her face grow steadily hotter as she stammered out breathless thank-yous and realized, with a pang of alarm, that the corners of her eyes were tingling. _'Ai, get a hold of yourself!'_ She scolded, then froze in shock when some one, she knew not who, planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Her face flushed deeper.  
  
It was to her relief that the small group parted and she stood before them, all the blood in her body seemingly having taken up new residence in the area above her neck.  
  
"Wow," she stammered, "this is...I ..._Faelon!_ You liar!"  
  
"It was a surprise!" He laughed, raising his arms in defence. "I had to!"  
  
"We were planning it forever," Dinnulín piped up. "They made me swear not to tell you!"  
  
Lothwen smiled happily at the child, feeling suddenly awkward. _'Now what do I say? Ai, this is so embarrassing – why can't I stop blushing?!'  
_  
"Come, Lothwen," Legolas said, moving toward her and taking her hand. She looked down at it, blushing furiously. "You must see Dinnulín's garlands – she worked very hard on them."  
  
He led her to a tree where the flowers hung the lowest, and she gasped dramatically. "Oh, Dinnulín, they are beautiful!" Lothwen said, turning to the young elf.  
  
"They are? Faelon and Legolas helped. We worked for hours!"  
  
"And it shows."  
  
"Oh! I made you this, too," Dinnulín held up a wreath of daisies and placed it on Lothwen's head when she bent down.  
  
"Thank you, Dinnu," she smiled.  
  
Then she was taken by the hand once again, but this time by Dinnulín, and the group of friends made their way to the table. Lothwen stared at the mini-feast before her; all of her favourite foods were pleasantly arrayed so that each of them looked so delicious that her stomach grumbled lightly in anticipation.  
  
"Faelon made it all," Dinnulín informed her. "He cooked all day yesterday."  
  
Faelon blushed as Lothwen turned to look at him in surprise. "Dinnu helped – she decorated the cake..."  
  
"I suppose I should have known it was you," she laughed slightly. "After all, you're the only one who can cook anything edible!"  
  
"That's not true!" Roccondil said indignantly. "Remember when Legolas and I made pudding? And that bread once, too?"  
  
"My point exactly."  
  
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Legolas raised an eyebrow, tilting his head regally.  
  
"It means that my teeth _still_ hurt and that the mere _sight_ of pudding makes me want to - "  
  
"Yes, Lothwen, that is quite a shame," Faelon interjected, "but you haven't seen Legolas' tablecloth. He brought the flowers and candles as well."  
  
The maiden's eyes snapped to him, angered at the interruption, but they quickly softened and took in the aforementioned items. "Thank you, Legolas," she smiled as she looked at the candles and flowers about the clearing. Then her eyes rested upon the tablecloth. "Where did you get that? It is very fine," she reached down and rubbed the material between her fingers. "It doesn't feel like a tablecloth, though...it's almost like...I'm not sure..."  
  
"My adar's coverlet."  
  
"_What?!_ Are you _mad?_" She looked at him in shock. "Legolas – don't you think it's time you stopped –"  
  
"He won't miss it. It's fine –"  
  
Lothwen's brow furrowed. "It is _rude_ to interrupt people when they are speaking, Legolas."  
  
"She is right, mellon nín," Roccondil nodded sagely. "Honestly, one sometimes finds it difficult to believe that you were raised in such a royal home and not in a cave by a pack of naugrim..."  
  
"Shut up, Roccondil," Legolas grumped as Faelon laughed heartily.  
  
Shaking her head, Lothwen turned to the river. "And what of the raft and tiny boats? Who brought them?" She asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.  
  
"I did," Roccondil said. "And I brought the furniture, too."  
  
Gazing about the clearing, Lothwen smiled softly. They had all pitched in. All of them had helped to give her the best begetting day she had ever had. Even little Dinnulín, who was only fifteen, had contributed. A warm feeling rose from her stomach, and, spreading throughout her body, rested within her heart.

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The sun was beginning to set, and after a few too-short hours of fun and games, the five elflings had at last sat down to supper. Legolas watched as Lothwen passed an empty plate to Faelon, who handed it to Dinnulín, who plopped it neatly in front of Roccondil. Lothwen was a peculiar girl, he thought. Her long hair was such a light brown it bordered on blonde, and it fell, pin-straight, down the length of her back. Though it was the style for young maidens to braid their hair before bed, so that it fell in wavy streams down their back, Lothwen never did. "I have no use for such things," she had once told him, and the brown-gold tresses remained straight, albeit the braid she would usually wear to keep them from her face.  
  
"Thank you," he said as he accepted his own plate. He remembered how he had been surprised at her dress when she had arrived – he was so used to seeing her in a tunic and leggings at archery practice and in the hours afterwards, that he seemed to have forgotten that Lothwen was, in truth, a girl. And the fact that she often swam, played, and competed readily with he, Roccondil and Faelon did not help matters. Thinking back, he laughed lightly at the many memories of a young maiden with flowers in her hair shouting maniacally at them that she was "the great Orc Queen" while chasing them with a sword (_'Well,'_ he amended, _'a stick.'_).  
  
At the moment, Lothwen wore a pale blue dress with small daisies embroidered on the hem and sleeves; it was simple, but still beautiful. _'Much like herself,'_ Legolas thought as he placed a honeyed bun on his plate. Lothwen rarely wore trinkets or fancy garments, nor would she do anything particularly elegant with her hair, if one discounted the flowers and small braids...  
  
"Legolas...?"  
  
"Is he off in his own world again?"  
  
"I think so. Try kicking him, Dinnu..."  
  
"Roccondil!"  
  
"What? It works for me."  
  
Legolas blinked and looked up from his plate, an untouched bun in his hand. "What?" He asked intelligently.  
  
"Can you _please_ pass me the tea?" Lothwen said as though she was tired of repeating the sentence.  
  
"Oh!" He grabbed hastily at a water skin from the pile beside him. "Yes, sorry," he blushed and handed it to her.  
  
"My thanks," she said exasperatedly, and poured the tea into five glasses and passed them around.  
  
"A toast," said Faelon, rising from his seat, "to our dear friend –"  
  
"And partner in crime!" Said Roccondil with a smirk, lifting his glass.  
  
"Well, in your case perhaps –"  
  
"And Muinthel Einior!" Dinnulín crowed happily, her arm straining as she tried to raise her glass as close as possible to Faelon's without getting up.  
  
"And infamous Orc Queen!" Legolas said through a grin fit to split his face, eyes alight as he lifted his own glass.  
  
The entire table erupted in helpless laughter.  
  
"To our dear friend, partner in crime, Muinthel Einior, and infamous Orc Queen," Faelon paused, and gazing at Lothwen with mirth-filled eyes, went on warmly, "may you have a most wonderful begetting day!"  
  
Then the five elves touched glasses and brought them to their mouths to sip.  
  
"Does anyone else find this tea tastes strange...?" Roccondil asked with an odd look on his face.  
  
Legolas watched as Lothwen lowered her glass, looking as though she were about to agree with Roccondil, when he saw her eyes fall on Faelon; the young elf looked positively crushed. "No, it tastes fine to me," she sipped it again. "In fact, I think it is perhaps the best tea I have ever had." Faelon beamed at her as both Legolas and Dinnulín nodded firmly in agreement.

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When their meal had come at last to an end, Lothwen was ushered away from the table to sit under a flower-laden tree. Moments later, an excited Dinnulín rushed over to place a gift in her lap, and before Lothwen knew it, there were three more about her feet.  
  
"You have to open mine first, Lothwen," said Dinnulín, her eyes twinkling happily.  
  
"All right," Lothwen said as she untied the white lace and removed the green cloth. Inside was a strange, lumpy brown ball with a large puff at one end. She lifted it curiously, and four little legs fell from within its folds, followed closed by a round-eared head. She looked at it, and then her face broke out into a delighted smile, "Oh, Dinnulín, it's adorable!"  
  
"Do you like it? I made it myself...well, my Nana did help a little."  
  
"I love it," Lothwen said as she turned it about in her hand. The edges were stitched seamlessly to prevent the stuffing from escaping, but aside from that, the little creature appeared quite bedraggled. Its ears were not the same size, nor did they rest parallel on the top of the head, and the black button eyes were uneven. It had a small cloth nose, but no mouth. Lothwen ran her fingers along the fluffy tail made of teased threads of yarn, laughing at the odd-looking squirrel. It was both ugly and adorable at once, and she found herself charmed by its strangeness. "It is adorable."  
  
Dinnulín beamed as Roccondil handed over his own gift. "Thank you," Lothwen said as she placed it in her lap and removed the red bow from the haphazardly wrapped box. She gasped. Lying in the box atop a red silk cloth was a beautiful wooden bow. She lifted into the candlelight, turning it reverently in her fingers. About the shaft raced tiny carven horses, manes and tails flowing behind them in an unseen wind, and near the top was her name, etched delicately in the smooth wood. "It's beautiful," she whispered as her eyes took in the handsome gift.  
  
"My adar showed me how to carve it," Roccondil said as he watched her. "There are also arrows and a quiver that he gave me in the cloth."  
  
"Thank you, Roccondil," she said again as she took out the aforementioned items. "This is..." Lothwen trailed off, taken aback.  
  
"It's nothing," he said as Legolas handed her a long, thin box.  
  
She took the gift and slowly unwrapped it. It was an ornately carved wooden box, decorated with small flowers and songbirds, and opening it, she found it filled with a soft green material. She picked it up, and a tiny silver flute rolled out onto her lap. Vines twined around its length, the sparkling golden leaves catching the candlelight. Raising the delicate instrument to gain a better view, she saw her name engraved near the mouthpiece and smiled. It seemed to be a going trend. "Thank you, Legolas. It is very beautiful."  
  
"I know you don't know how to play it," he said, a slight flush upon his cheeks, "but my naneth taught me...and I thought you might like to learn too..."  
  
Lothwen felt a sharp pang in her heart, "I would like that, Legolas," she said, and, before she could stop herself, moved to embrace him. "I will treasure it always."  
  
"Umm, well, y-you're...welcome," he stammered, surprised at the contact. "But Faelon hasn't given you his gift yet!"  
  
Lothwen blushed, surprised at herself as well, and looking to Faelon, she took his gift. She removed the ribbon and cloth from the thick, heavy parcel. Her eyebrow rose when she saw that it was a large brown tome with slightly yellowed pages. The leather-bound cover creaked as she pulled it gently open.  
  
"It's a book about plants and gardening," Faelon said, blushing and fidgeting with his tunic sleeves. "It lists all kinds of beautiful trees and flowers, where they grow, what they do, and how to plant and care for them. A-and it has the most wonderful drawings. I thought you could use it for your garden..."  
  
"Oh, I see," she smiled. "This is brilliant – I'd been wondering how I should plant my cherry tree, and what flowers would go well with it. This will definitely come into good use. Thank you, Faelon."  
  
"You're welcome," he smiled. "Shall we go have some more tea? I don't know about you, but I am quite thirsty." 

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* * *

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A few hours later... 

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"Roll - roll - roll - roll,  
  
"roll-roll-roll-roll-rolling down the hole! –"  
  
"_Roc'dil_ – tha's too many rolls!" Lothwen yelled angrily.  
  
"How _d'you_ know? You coun'en' 'em?"  
  
"Maybe I am!"  
  
"Now, now!" Faelon staggered up, but was quickly pulled down again by Legolas. "There's – oof! – n-no need to squibble! Jus sing th'song!"  
  
The prince collapsed into a fit of helpless giggles, "No squib'ling! Ha ha ha!"  
  
The five elflings were now sitting upon the raft in the Forest River, watching as their tiny candle-lit boats floated about on strings. Among Lothwen's gifts at their feet lay three large empty water skins (the glasses sat forgotten on the table).  
  
"Down th' swiff dark sssream you go  
  
"Back to lans y'once dinnoh!  
  
"..."  
  
They fell silent, at a loss for what came next. Finally, Dinnulín seemed to come out of a slight stupor, and yelled, throwing her fist into the air and inadvertently punching Faelon: "_Heap_ ho! _Spass_ pump!"  
  
The others quickly joined in.  
  
"Down theggo, down thebbump!  
  
"_Pass_ the russes, _pass_ the ree's,  
  
"_Pass_ the marsses _wave'n_ weeds,"  
  
"Wait!" Lothwen yelled, slapping her hand over Faelon's mouth, causing him to knock heads with Roccondil. "'Ere, play som'n!" She thrust her flute at Legolas.  
  
"Awwight," letting go of his boat's string, he took the instrument, moved it to his lips and tried to play the song's tune. It came out as a garbled squeal and the four elves clapped their hands over their ears. All five boats drifted quickly away.  
  
"That was _terrbble_ Leg-lego- wa _ebber_ you name iss!" Roccondil said gravely as Faelon practically shrieked with laughter.  
  
"Ai!" Dinnulín sobbed, causing the others' heads to whip around. "My boot!"  
  
"Wha –?" Lothwen began, looking for a boot in the water, her eyes dazed and face flushed. Then: "The boats!"  
  
"Untie us! Untie us!" Roccondil yelled, shoving Legolas forward.  
  
The young prince slammed face-first onto the wood and crawled clumsily to the rope, and, after a few tries, managed to lift the loop from the stake on the bank. The raft immediately swept forward in the fast current.  
  
Taking a large swig of the 'tea,' Roccondil threw his arm outward and pointed after the tiny boats floating ahead: "Affer 'em!"

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"Le melin." – I love you. A huge thank you goes out to Sirnonenath for helping me with this one – at first I thought it was "Im melleth le." Elvish gives me a headache...  
  
"Adar" - Father  
  
"Ada" - Daddy, dad, papa...  
  
"Muinthel einior" – Elder sister. Once again, my thanks are sent to Sirnonenath for her help.  
  
"Naneth" - "Mother," or when used as "Nana," it's mommy, mom, mama...you get the idea.  
  
"Meld Lothwen" - "Dear Lothwen"  
  
"Garo daw vaer, elei velui" - Literally, "Have a good night time, sweet dreams."  
  
"Naugrim" - I'm not entirely sure if this is plural or not, so "Dwarf/Dwarves"  
  
"Tithen muinthel" - "Little sister." 

"Muindor" - "Brother"  
  
"Mae govannen" - "Well met."

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As per request, here are the translations of the elvish names: 

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Eilianu – Rainbow. She's Dinnulín's friend, but has not been seen as of yet.  
  
Faelon – Just; having a good soul.  
  
Roccondil – Friend of horses, in Quenya (His mother named him -, so it's not in Sindarin).  
  
Lothwen – Flower maiden.  
  
Dinnulín – Twilight pool.  
  
Dínendír – Silent male. It sounds odd in English, but I didn't want his name to be just Dínen (I thought it sounded better this way).  
  
Thavron – Carpenter. 

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Sorry if my Elvish seems a little odd, but I found so many contradicting sources that I just went with what seemed to be in the majority and what I felt sounded best. If anyone knows that I'm most definitely wrong, please tell me and give me the website that you got your information from. I'd be happy to fix any mistakes – after all, I'm no scholar in the languages of Tolkien; I'm simply a girl doing her best to write Elvish.  
  
I put most of these names together by myself, so I may have done it wrong, but I still like them. Faelon and Roccondil I got from a list where a girl translated people's English names into Elvish, so a huge thank you to her. I was going to make up my own names for the elflings, but I had already planned out their personalities with those, (I hadn't, at the time, been able to find a list of simple Sindarin words on the 'net), and I couldn't bear to change them. To whoever wrote that list - I hope you don't mind and as soon as I find the link again, I'll put it here.  
  
Also, I hope that three large water skins of wine was enough to get elflings drunk, because I know how hard it is for the adults.  
  
And, lastly, that song at the end was a horribly butchered rendition of that found in:  
  
Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Hobbit. USA: HarperCollinsPublishers, 1999. 170-172. 

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Wow. This chapter was hard to write. It took so long, and I was sorely tempted to post it in parts, but I promised you Lothwen and plans going astray, and I'm nothing if not a woman of my word, so I gritted my teeth and did it. I hope you enjoyed it and that, if you had any expectations, it met them.  
  
If you have any questions, comments, helpful hints, or whatever, please review!  
  
And next time, Thranduil finally makes an appearance. 

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Thanks for reading,  
  
Ethelewen. 


	5. When The Crow Flies

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.

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Melui: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the drunken part; I have to admit I was a bit worried that my attempt at drunken elflings was not, in fact, humorous, but if you liked it then it must not have been as bad as I'd thought. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything when I sent you this chapter to review, and thank you for pointing out that really bizarre sentence - I'd meant to say 'and' and 'hand.' :)  
  
Cry Tears Of Darkness: Thanks for the review! Are you okay? Maybe you should lie down after all that Legolas gushing. Just remember to breathe. But don't worry, I understand the feeling - I didn't understand anything that was happening in The Two Towers with Aragorn, Théoden, and Gandalf because whenever Legolas was on screen, I'd just stare at him and not listen to what the other people were saying. And I'd already read the book. So naturally, I had to go see it a few more times ) . Even though it was an excellent movie, I must say I was appalled with what they did to poor Faramir - he was one of my favourites in the books, and I hated him in the movie. He seemed like a villain. Thanks again for your review, and I'll be sure to check out your works.  
  
Sirnonenath: Thank you! Dinnulín is glad to have you! I'm so happy you like her; she and Faelon are my favourites because they just write themselves – I didn't even have to plan out their personalities. They were just there. Also, I want to apologize if I made Lothwen seem like a Mary-Sue, and I assure you that that is not what she's really like. Well, she is a kind elf, but certainly not as perfect as she seems :) . I couldn't have her being her usual self at her party – after all, she was very touched. I'm very sorry. I hope that I haven't given you a bad impression of her, but she's a bit hard to write; Lothwen's one complicated elf! But don't worry, as I go along, I'm sure I'll improve, and you'll get to see her again in the next chapter, and she'll be around for the rest of the story - she's an important character for a distant plan of mine grins evilly. Wow. Where did you learn all of that Elvish? I'm so jealous of you – I can hardly learn French, and that's an actual language that I'm supposed to know. I guess it's just doesn't interest me like Elvish. Oh well. Thanks for the help with "I love you" and "Elder." I'm glad you liked my names – I worked very hard on them! And, because you asked, here are my sources: and . I had another one with just Elvish-to-English translations in it (that's the one I used to make my names) but I didn't write down the 'site. Sigh I always do that. Sorry for making this answer so long; I'm a very talkative person. I really appreciated your review – not only did it help me to realize my mistake in Lothwen, but it also helped with my Elvish. Thanks! Also, thanks for the hug, it really cheered up my cold-fogged brain! Sends hug in return Thanks!  
  
angelbird12241: Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying my story - that's why I'm writing it. Here's the next chapter, and thanks again for the review; they really make my day! 

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Chapter Five: When The Crow Flies 

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A soft light flickered erratically on the stonewalls, giving the large room an eerie glow. Sheaves of dusty parchment rested in old bookcases behind a large oak desk in the centre of the room, upon which even more weathered scrolls lay, mingled with wax candles and empty inkbottles. The cold stone floor was covered with a rich green carpet.  
  
At the moment, a tall, golden-haired elf sat regally behind the desk on a large, comfy-looking chair, his face a picture of concentration as his hand drifted lazily across a sheet of parchment, quill scratching softly. When he reached the edge of the page, he paused to look at a thick tome by his left hand. A moment later, he resumed his task.  
  
The flames in the candlesticks on the walls dimmed a little as they burned ever closer to their wicks. The elf raised his golden head and watched them for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.  
  
Thranduil sighed as he listened to the soft crackling of the burning candles, trying to ignore the faint pangs in his empty stomach. He had so much left to do, and, judging by the low burning flames, only a short time in which to complete it. He glared down at the elegant scrawl of his writing, and his brow furrowed in frustration; his realm was once again low on imported goods, and a trade party would soon need to be sent out. Normally, he would not have minded writing up trade negotiations, but as he had been forced to put it off for some time in order to deal with other matters – and one exasperating little elfling in particular – the pile of work demanding his attention had grown to inexcusable proportions. And so he found himself spending his free time locked away in the dim gloom of his office, pouring over seemingly endless stacks of parchment. _'I don't think I ever fully understood all the work Gaelrian truly did until she was gone. How she managed it all is beyond me...'_ A sad smile tugged at his lips. _'Then again, she never could stand sitting about doing nothing.'  
_  
His wife had been a spirited elf, always looking for an adventure, always laughing and singing. She had loved wandering about the woods, playing merry tunes on her flute in the garden, and dancing under the starlight. She was truly a gift. Thranduil often found himself wondering why she had chosen to marry him, knowing what his title would bring to her. What _her_ title would mean. Becoming a queen meant resigning oneself to hours of dull political work and discussions, and spending glorious sunny days in a study, completing letters and other such labours. It meant traveling to other realms to meet with Elf Lords and Ladies, leaving one's family behind. And though Gaelrian had been a social elf who enjoyed talking with others, meeting new people, and especially journeying to new places, he knew that she had hated leaving her family. She had adored their children with all her heart, and it had pained him to see the deep sorrow in her eyes as she watched them wave goodbye at their partings. He knew that despite her adventuresome spirit, she would have much preferred to remain in Mirkwood.  
  
It had been three years since her passing, and still his heart ached for her. Mirkwood, the palace, his life was just not the same without her. Always she had brightened his spirits with her steadfast optimism, cheerful songs, and easy humour. Thranduil missed her melodic voice and bubbling laughter – her spirit.  
  
He chuckled lightly at the memory of her. How she would never fail to make him smile; she took in almost every situation with a carefree attitude, and as such, was always the first to assure him that everything, no matter how grim, would turn out right in the end. He sighed sadly, _'I just wish I could believe it. After all, Gaelrian tended to think with her heart rather than her mind – often getting herself into trouble because of it. If she had been a warrior,'_ he thought with a wry smile, _'she would not have lived to see seventy –'  
_  
Thranduil started slightly when the candles suddenly burned out, their wick spent, plunging the room into darkness. Cursing himself for letting his thoughts distract him from his work, he lit a spare candle, sealed his inkbottle, and made his way from the room. _'I will have to finish it tonight,'_ he thought with a weary sigh.  
  
It was not long before the Elven Lord reached the Royal Family quarters in the trees above his underground halls. He walked silently down the corridors and stopped when he reached a fine oak door with the name Nírwen inscribed upon it in flowing elvish script; soft singing could be heard from behind it. Leaning closer, he smiled at the loving tune and slowly pushed the door open.  
  
The circular chamber was beautifully decorated; tapestries depicting fanciful tales lined the walls between the large windows with their billowy lilac curtains, a plush rug was spread upon the floor, and all about the room delicate flora grew from soil-filled pots. A fine cradle and rocking chair rested cosily at the far end. Sitting in the chair was a fair elven maiden with a tiny child sleeping in her arms.  
  
"How is she?" Thranduil asked as he moved to her side.  
  
"She rests now, Adar," The elf smiled calmly at him. "We were waiting for you."  
  
"Forgive me, Mírolind," he smiled as he bent to take the babe from her arms. "I did not realize I was so late."  
  
"Nay, Adar" she rose from the chair and straightened her gown, "you are not. It is only that tithen Nírwen is so impatient." Gazing for a moment at the child, Mírolind moved to kiss her father lightly on the cheek and turned to leave to the room. "Ethirion told me dinner is ready. Surely you are hungry?" She asked from the doorway.  
  
"Aye," he looked down when the small child in his arms shifted with a soft sigh. Two large blue eyes gazed up at him as the elfling fisted a hand in his hair and gave a sharp tug. "Mae govannen, meren nín," he laughed as he crossed the room and followed Mírolind to the dining room. "Did you sleep well?"

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When he had first arrived at the dining room, Thranduil was slightly surprised to find that one member of his family was missing. Ethirion, his second eldest, was engaged in an animated discussion with one of the maids, while next to him Talagant, the heir to the throne of Mirkwood, sat rigidly and was silent, a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"Aduial vaer, Hír nín. Muinthel," he said as Thranduil and Mírolind took their places at the table.  
  
"Aduial vaer," Thranduil answered as Mírolind nodded.  
  
"Adar," Ethirion turned to his family as the now-blushing maid left the room. "It has been long since we last met. Did you finish you work?"  
  
"We saw each other this morning, Ethirion," he shook his head with a smile as he placed the child in a highchair next to him. "And no, I did not."  
  
"Well, I am sure you will soon enough."  
  
"Where is Legolas?" Mírolind asked as her eyes took in the prince's empty chair.  
  
"I haven't seen him all day," Ethirion replied, and turned to look at Talagant. "Have you?"  
  
"Nay, I have not," he, too, glanced at the chair. "But he is still being punished is he not? Mayhap he is still in his chamber."  
  
"I doubt it," Mírolind said. "It is not like him to miss any opportunity to leave his room."  
  
"He's probably sulking"  
  
"Ethirion."  
  
"Well, Adar, you were a little harsh with him. After all, he was only playing – I'm sure he did not mean to turn Galion's hair purple."  
  
"I have to wonder sometimes," Mírolind laughed softly at the memory.  
  
"Playing or not, he should know better," Thranduil said, sending Ethirion a look that told him to keep his foolish comments to himself. He turned to the maid who had returned with a basket of bread. "Will you go and fetch my son, please. Tell him that we are waiting to start dinner."  
  
"I shall, Hír nín," she bowed and moved towards the door, but stopped when Ethirion called to her.  
  
"Do you need any help, Gwinfalas?"  
  
"No, she does not," Thranduil glared at him pointedly, and the maiden left the room, her laughter drifting down the corridor.  
  
While they waited for her return, Thranduil spoke to Talagant of the tidings in Mirkwood while Mírolind and Ethirion entertained the young Nírwen, who seemed rather pleased with all the attention. "She's quite the glutton for it, isn't she," Ethirion laughed as the child gazed at him with blue doe eyes.  
  
Presently, however, their discussions were interrupted when Gwinfalas entered the room.  
  
"He is not there, Hír nín," her eyes were shadowed with worry. "And no one has seen him all day, or so I am told."  
  
The room fell deathly silent.

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The sun shown brightly in the sky above, warming the earth with its golden rays as a soft but temperate breeze rustled the long grass. Distant birdsong could be heard, broken by the occasional harsh cawing of a crow. The sound of fast-flowing water filled the air.  
  
Dinnulín groaned and wondered when everything had suddenly become so loud. She slowly opened her bleary eyes and waited while her vision cleared. _'Where am I?'_ She thought as her head pounded mercilessly. _'What's wrong with me? Why does my head hurt so much?'_ Groaning, she pushed herself up and jumped when the seat of her dress became suddenly soaked. Her face paled. _'Oh no! I –'_ she looked down and, realizing she had only sat in river water, sighed with relief. _'Hold on...a river?'  
_  
Faelon shifted by her side, and she stared in amazement at the scene before her. All four of her friends lay in odd positions upon the riverbank, and though their faces were hidden, she could tell that they were sleeping. Their raft bobbed helplessly in the swift current. Its string seemed to be tangled about Roccondil and Lothwen, who were so close together that they were nearly on top of each other. A crow cried out above her head as she moved to wake her brother, her muddled mind unsure of what to make of the situation.  
  
However, just as she reached out her hand to grasp his shoulder, a bright glint in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked. There, lying in the grass a few feet in front of her, was the tiny glass bird Dínendír had made. Her heart brightened at the memory and she slowly crawled toward it, wanting to feel its familiar smoothness in her palm. But just as her fingers came close enough to touch it, a large black crow swooped down and landed behind it, staring at the little elfling with a calculating look. It cried out sharply, then, in one fluid motion, plucked up the tiny sculpture with its beak. The crow held its ground, eyes gleaming with mockery.  
  
Dinnulín glared back at it. "Give that back, you stupid bird!" She growled as she took a swipe at the prize in its beak. The crow jumped up, spread its ebony wings, and flew away from her. "Come _back_ here!" She yelled as she leaped to her feet and chased after it. "That's _mine_!"  
  
Her swift bare feet carried her lightly across the ground, leaving not a single footprint in the supple grass. Her raven hair streamed behind her as she ran, and her pale pink dress billowed about her pumping legs. _'Stupid bird,'_ she thought with a scowl, _'you just wait until I catch you!'_ Dinnulín put on another burst of speed, and her eyes widened at what she saw before her.  
  
Far ahead was what appeared to be a town in the middle of a great lake. Her eyes narrowed in determination. If the crow reached it, she would never be able to find it in all those houses! She sped up once more, her elven stamina preventing her from becoming exhausted, but not saving her from losing breath. Slowly, the town came closer so that it filled all of her vision.  
  
Above her, the crow altered its course, heading for a small copse of tall evergreens that lay to her right. Dinnulín gasped in despair. _'No! I'll never find it in all that!'_ Tears welled in her eyes, and, pushed by the rushing wind, flew back to land on her ears and in her hair.  
  
At last she made it to the small grove, just as she saw the crow disappear into the thick green needles. Tears flowed freely down her face as she darted about the bases of the trees, trying desperately to find the bird and keep from sobbing. A twig cracked behind her and she yelped in fright as a thick black shadow crept onto the trunks and earth before her. Slowly, Dinnulín turned.  
  
"Why so sad, my little one?" A tall man with thick, strong arms and torso looked down at her, his eyes hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The crow sat ominously upon his left shoulder.

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"Tithen" – Little  
  
"Mae govannen" – Well met  
  
"Meren nín" – My joy  
  
"Aduial vaer" – Good evening  
  
"Muinthel" – Sister  
  
"Hír nín" – My Lord  
  
"Adar" – Father

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Names:

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Talagant – Harper  
  
Ethirion – Lookout  
  
Mírolind – Shining Song  
  
Nírwen – Weeping Maiden  
  
Gwinfalas – Pale Blue Shore

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I know. I'm evil. I was going to make the chapter longer, but I just couldn't resist leaving you all with two cliffhangers! I hope you enjoyed it, and if I forgot to translate any Elvish, or Elvish names, feel free to ask.  
  
I hope you liked it, please review; I'll answer any questions you have, and I welcome comments and constructive criticisms.

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Thanks for reading,  
  
Ethelewen. 


	6. Of Elves and Crimson Hands

Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.

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Melui: Thanks for the review! You have actually run out of words? Knowing you, that's a huge compliment! ;) Thanks! Cry Tears Of Darkness: Thank you! You are evil! Poor Dinnulín. I'm glad that there wasn't too many distractions, and if you have too much trouble with the places, just email me and I'll help you out. Fear not - Legolas is in this chapter. And I'm glad you liked Thranduil's reverie about his wife. I know, I can't believe school is tomorrow! I'm so depressed. Thanks for the review!  
  
Sirnonenath: Wow. I am so touched that you put me on your favourite author's list – that means so much to me! You're the first person to do that who isn't one of my friends from school. I would so hug you now if it were possible! Thank you! Yes, Lothwen's very hard for me. Maybe I should kill her off...no, I'm just kidding; I need her for the plot. Her personality came out a bit more in this chapter because she wasn't drunk, and hopefully I'll be able to portray her like she is in my mind - I wrote I little bio for her (I'm way too thorough), but it's not helping as much as I thought it would. Votre Français est très bien! Mes problèmes sont dans l'orale et, un peut, dans la lecture et compréhension d'orale, mais m'écriture n'est pas mal. Oui, cette langue est très difficile. Thanks for the 'site - it's really good. And I hope you don't mind, but I just may take you up on you offer once in a while! I'm glad you like Gaelrian and the scene where Thranduil remembers her - I tried to make it sad, but not overly dramatic. And about the candles; thanks. I needed a way for him to realise that he had to leave, but since he couldn't have had an alarm clock, I figured he could have 'hour candles,' so to speak. Don't worry, more about Gaelrian will be revealed later in the story, so I can't answer your question ;). Maybe I will make a prequel...As for that man - you'll see. Good luck on your exams if you haven't done them yet, and thanks again for your offer, and for putting me on you favourites list. I'm so glad you like reading what I write. Thanks for the review - I always look forward to getting one from you!  
  
farflung: Thanks for your reviews for chapters four and five! Faelon is a very thoughtful elf, and thanks for saying I make them speak well! I really appreciate that - I was a bit worried at times that they were too old/young sounding (it feels strange to have elves speaking so simply, and then when I move to the adults, I feel strange making them speak so proper!). Your poor sister! I have no tolerance for alcohol and I'm seventeen. It's sad really. I feel bad about killing Legolas' mother too, but since she was never mentioned in The Hobbit or LOTR, I didn't want to take any chances. And besides, it works for my plot! At least Elves can return to Middle- earth once Mandos feels they've stayed in his Halls long enough, so he will see her again. I know, I hate school schedules - my semester starts tomorrow, and it's insane! I have such long days! Thanks for the review, and I hope you still find the story charming after this. It got a bit dark. Please keep reading it though! :) 

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Chapter Six: Of Elves and Crimson Hands 

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A dark wind blew through the trees, chilling the spring air and birthing a sense of foreboding in the deep forest of Mirkwood. An owl hooted overhead, the sound mingling eerily with the piercing screeches of bats. Five elves stood in a small clearing, bodies tense as their bright eyes moved swiftly over the surroundings.  
  
"It appears that a party was held here recently," Talagant broke the silence as he moved forward to inspect the table. "And yet there is no sign of Legolas or his comrades."  
  
"They must still be here," Ethirion looked about as though the young prince would suddenly materialize with that statement.  
  
"Aye," Mírolind said, moving further into the clearing as well, "Legolas is not one to abandon his pursuits – if he were not here, then nor would be anything else."  
  
"But why would he be out here to begin with?" Thranduil asked, holding Nírwen. "Did he have a party merely to celebrate the breaking of his punishment?"  
  
Gwinfalas gasped almost imperceptibly as realisation dawned upon her. "Today is Lady Lothwen's begetting day; Legolas must have given her a party. He is kind like that. Mayhap they are showing her some sort of surprise?"  
  
"Nay, Híril nín," Talagant stood by the table, an empty glass in hand. "I do not think so –"  
  
"Unless the surprise is more wine," Ethirion sniffed at a goblet, his nose wrinkling. "They must be falling over themselves by now...or comatose. This is very strong; I think it is the stuff Mirthael made me on my seventieth begetting day. He'd said it was time I settled down and thought about having a child..."  
  
"And did you follow his advice, ernil nín?" Gwinfalas asked, their current objective forgotten. Her red face was an odd blend between dismay and fury.  
  
"Will the two of you please cease this foolishness," Mírolind said, exasperated. "In case you have not noticed, meld muindor nín, Legolas has yet to be found."  
  
"Forgive me, Híril nín," Gwinfalas said earnestly, "I did not mean to lose sight of the problem." She bowed, hand over her heart, and Mírolind's ire seemed to soften, but annoyance still shone in her eyes. Gwinfalas turned to Talagant: "Where do you think they went?"  
  
"My guess," he replaced the goblet and turned to gaze at her with calm eyes, "is that they have wandered off in their inebriation. Mayhap we will find them if we track their course."  
  
Ethirion, too, replaced his goblet and looked at the ground. An elegant eyebrow rose as his eyes followed the trail of what appeared to be drunken stumbling. He turned about in a circle, walked forward, then, after a pause where the tracks collided in a confused mess ("I wonder what they were doing," he muttered to no one in particular), he made his way slowly to the river. Pausing by the riverbank, Ethirion cocked his head in confusion as he picked up a tiny pair of brown shoes that seemed to have been thrown haphazardly into a gnarled bush. "Dinnulín's shoes," his eyes shown with worry. "The tracks stop here."  
  
"You..." Gwinfalas paused, "you do not think they fell in, do you?" The four elves joined Ethirion by the river, fear shadowing their faces.  
  
"No," Mírolind said, turning to them. "Look: there is a stake here – for a boat!"  
  
Talagant gazed thoughtfully at it for a moment. "From what I could tell, young Roccondil was with them. I would not be surprised if he had brought one."  
  
"Yes, but Faelon would never allow his muinthel on such a thing – not in this river!" Gwinfalas' eyes darkened. _'The wine!'_ "Oh no..."  
  
"That little _fool_!" Thranduil growled. _'He is going to get himself –'_ "How far do you think they've gotten?"  
  
"The current is extremely fast..." Talagant said, watching the river. "And the bread upon the table is dry and stale. So if they became inebriated during their dinner, and immediately set out to the boat, then hours have passed since they left. They must be at the edge of the wood, if they have not already left it."  
  
Thranduil turned grave eyes to the group. "Then we haven't much time. Gwinfalas go to the elflings' families and tell them what's happened. Talagant, it is time to test your skills as heir to the throne. Mírolind, Ethirion, return home and prepare packs and horses. We go to find them."

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* * *

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Dinnulín stared at the man for a moment, her eyes wide. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest as her startled mind raced, trying to comprehend what he had said, and slowly, with great effort, it formed her response in Westron. "Your crow – i-it stole my bird."  
  
"Your bird?" The man asked; his loud voice seemed to fill the forest.  
  
Dinnulín took a step back, trembling slightly. "My glass bird, he...he stole it...Hír nín."  
  
The man paused a moment, and the small elf watched as a menacing sneer spread slowly across his face. "He did, did he?" He chuckled, but the harsh noise sent shivers down Dinnulín's spine.  
  
Trembling intensely now, her tears began anew. Never before had she been so petrified, and Dinnulín felt as though her body had turned to stone; her limbs, though shaking, seemed heavy and alien, and despite her many pleading commands, they would not move. Her mind raced in frenzied panic – why was she so afraid? She did not understand; the man had not harmed her. But there was something in the way he held himself, like a stalking predator taunting its cornered prey, something that screamed at her to run.  
  
"Oh, but my dear, that is his job."  
  
Before her leaden body could react, the man had lunged forward, the crow leaping into the air, cawing madly, and seized her slender arm in a bone-cracking grip. With a deep grunt, the man hauled her forward and Dinnulín's bare feet formed deep trails in the earthy forest floor. Fat tears poured down her face and her heart rammed painfully in her chest as she struggled fiercely in his grasp. But still it did not slacken. Dinnulín did the first thing that came to her frenzied mind. She screamed.  
  
The man's grip faltered for but a second, and he brought his other hand roughly to her mouth, desperate to stifle the ear-piercing scream that rang through the trees. Dinnulín's eyes widened in terrified horror as she tried to draw breath but felt only an odd, tight sensation in her chest as her lungs strained to take in what they so desperately needed. Sparkling, multicoloured specs danced before her eyes. She was going to die.  
  
Something erupted within the tiny elf, a thing of feral instinct and borne of a final, desperate need to survive. Her mind wiped blank, as though her consciousness and soul had shattered, the bright pieces drifting away on a chill wind. And it was with a strength that belied her small stature and delicate features that Dinnulín thrashed wildly at the man. Pain laced through her body as her foot connected with his iron shin, but she did not feel it. Her pale, innocent fingers clawed at his thick, hairy arms, and blood seeped from the wounds. Thin rolls of red flesh wedged beneath her nails. Howling in pain, the man wrenched his arm from the child's mouth, only to bring it down once more. Dinnulín fell to the ground with the force of the blow, her cheek throbbing, but she quickly pushed herself backward as her tormentor advanced upon her. Her frantic eyes widened when the trunk of a great tree suddenly halted her escape. The man let out a satisfied bark, and an evil smirk replaced his pained grimace. "You'll pay for that you little –"  
  
But he did not finish. Dinnulín watched in terror as he coughed and cursed and rubbed furiously at his eyes where the thrown dirt and pine needles had hit.  
  
Then, like the speeding waters from a broken dam, her consciousness flooded her. She felt a sharp click as her mind quickly registered the surroundings; her bloodied hands, the throbbing pain in her body – and the fast-recovering human before her. _Run_, a voice deep within screamed, _run_! And this time she heeded it.  
  
Like an arrow from a bow she sprang from the ground and bolted swiftly through the trees. Sharp needles tore at her cheeks and her salty tears burned the wounds. Her pounding feet stung as they hit the course earth, small stones sticking to their tender sores. But the shadows were quickly lifting, and Dinnulín sobbed when at last the bright sun assailed her senses. Close ahead, slightly to the left, was a wide bridge leading to the great town upon the lake.  
  
Just as she dared begin to hope, a fierce howl of rage boomed behind her, and her elven ears told her that the man was in hot pursuit. Heart beating madly in her chest, Dinnulín screamed.

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* * *

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Birdsong and the steady sound of fast-flowing water were the first things to greet Legolas' hazy mind as he pulled himself from his elven dreams. He felt himself being gently guided to the land of the waking, and he allowed a sense of contented peace to wash over his body as he at last became alert.  
  
Black. Deep, dark, endless black was all that met him, and he started in horrified surprise. His eyes were closed!  
  
Panicked, Legolas wrenched them open and sat up in one swift motion. He gasped as the world swirled wildly about him, and clamped a hand over his mouth – his stomach lurched threateningly. He looked down at his body and focused his mind on finding injuries; besides the nausea, the pounding in his head, and the fact that his mouth tasted as if he had just eaten his tunic, he could find nothing that was not as it should be. Except that he had no idea where he was and his friends lay scattered about him on a riverbank.  
  
Now thoroughly confused, Legolas staggered quickly to his feet (or as quickly as his foggy mind would allow) when he saw Roccondil rollover in his sleep, coming to rest with his head upon Lothwen's chest and his arm wrapped tightly around her torso. If he wanted his friend to live, Legolas would have to remove him before the young maiden could awaken. He reached the elves, noting that their eyes were closed as well, and reached out to gently shake his friend's shoulder, desperate not to disturb the elf beneath. However, Roccondil had the same reaction as Legolas to his closed eyes, and with a strange, gurgled noise, he shot awake with a start, jarring the sleeping Lothwen in the process.  
  
Her eyes opened slowly, and they were shadowed with sleepy confusion and pain. Then they focused on the elf atop her. In the time it took Roccondil to blink, her brow furrowed and her eyes became steely and narrowed.  
  
"Get _off_! " Lothwen yelled furiously and Legolas watched in amazement as the unfortunate boy was sent tumbling into the river. Lothwen sat up, seething, and with a pained expression, rubbed her head.  
  
Roccondil surfaced, and dragged himself out of the water. "I could have drowned, you lunatic!" He disentangled himself from the rope about his feet and pulled the raft from the river. The two glared at each other and Roccondil titled the raft so that Lothwen's gifts and the water skins fell on her.  
  
"Ugh! You are such a child!"  
  
However, just when it looked as though a fight was imminent, their friendly words from the party forgotten, Faelon (who, with all the noise, had awoken and moved to rouse his sister) cried out in dismay. "Dinnulín?!" He shot up from the ground, swaying slightly, and looked frantically for her. "No! What if she's in the river?! Ai, Elbereth..." he trailed off, eyes sparkling with fear and unshed tears.  
  
The three elves immediately moved to aid him, and soon they were all scouring the area for the lost child. Long minutes passed.  
  
"Maybe we should check downriver," Legolas whispered to Lothwen as she looked in vain for footprints. He did not want to further upset Faelon, but he knew Dinnulín would not have wandered off on her own, and he was afraid that she had indeed fallen in the swift waters.  
  
The maiden nodded gravely and moved to the distressed elf. "Faelon?" He looked at her, eyes frantic. "I think we should follow the river."  
  
His pale face seemed almost grey as yet more colour left it. Tears formed wet trails down his cheeks, and Lothwen felt her heart clench. Wanting to soothe her friend, she lean forward to embrace him, but stopped halfway and gripped his shoulder instead. She lowered her eyes sadly and turned to follow Legolas downriver when a piercing scream rent the air, causing the elves to start and whip around – it had come from beyond a small hill.  
  
"That was Dinnulín!" Faelon yelled and ran toward the sound. "Come on!"  
  
Legolas grabbed Lothwen's bow in case they would need it, while Roccondil took the rest of the gifts (except for the large book, which he left in the grass), and followed his friends as they rushed up the hill.  
  
Soon they reached its crest and they stood, hands shielding their eyes, looking for the source of the scream. Faelon cried out when he saw his little sister dash out of a copse of trees in the distance, a large man chasing close behind. The girl screamed again and, with a great yell of "Dinnulín," he took off down the hill.  
  
The girl had made it to the bridge when she paused and whipped around at the sound of his voice. "Thau nín! Muindor!" She cried in terror. However, this was to the man's advantage; with a great yell, he had caught up to the child and was lifting her screaming form into the air.  
  
Legolas and his friends raced toward her, their legs pumping furiously as they lessened the distance separating them from the bridge. He stared at the man in shock and fear, but as Dinnulín cried out once more for help, it quickly changed to repulsion and fury. Legolas glared at the abomination terrorizing the normally bright and happy elfling and he felt his blood boil and churn. Dinnulín was writing and screaming in fear and pain. They would not reach her! Panic rose in his chest as he came to an abrupt halt and raised the bow. Notching an arrow, he aligned it with the man's temple and pulled back on the string, willing himself into calmness. With a sharp twang, the arrow whistled through the air. There was a sickening _thud_ as the man's head jerked to the side. His legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to the ground, Dinnulín still clutched tightly in his grip.  
  
Legolas felt a cold chill race through him, and his breath came in short, frantic gasps. The bow dropped from his limp fingers and landed at his feet. Dizzy and nauseous, Legolas raised his numb, shaking hands. He felt dirty. Crimson blood dripped from his fingers as he looked at them in horror.  
  
He had killed him.

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* * *

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"Thau nín! Muindor!" – Help me! Brother!  
  
"Híril nín" – My Lady  
  
"Hír nín" – My Lord  
  
"Meld muindor nín" – My dear brother  
  
"Muindor" – Brother  
  
"Muinthel" – Sister

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I forgot to tell you all this last time;

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Gaelrian – Glimmering Lady

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I'm sorry that it was so short; it was supposed to be longer (the elflings were going to go into Lake Town), but stuff came up in the last few days, and I just barely got this much. Well, tomorrow school starts again, and I have _a lot_ on my plate this semester, so while I'll spend as much of my little free time as possible writing chapters, I can't guarantee many updates (if any) until after May 10, 2004.  
  
Also, I'm sorry about the whole Dinnulín and the man thing, but it was an essential plot point, and I needed it to darken the mood of the story - as of yet, it's been rather light-hearted. I hope I didn't make anyone angry, and believe me it was hard to write: not only did I feel guilty for doing that to my poor little Dinnu, but I also didn't want it to get to violent, while still showing how much of a horrible and frightening experience it was for her. I absolutely _hate_ child abusers. And that is why the man had to die. The creep.  
  
Well, that's all I have to say, except for please review – they make my day. And I'll definitely need it after tomorrow. Please no flames – if I made you angry with that horrible scene, I'm sorry, but if you still feel that you need to criticize, then do so politely. Thanks again! :)

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Thank you for reading,  
  
Ethelewen 


	7. The Search Begins

Disclaimer: I own nothing – except, of course, for my OCs. And the things in my home…Actually, my parents own most of that. Well, you get the idea.

FREEDOM!!

Ahem. Right. On to the reviewer responses:

Melui: Thank you!

Sirnonenath: Thank you! .You're one of my favourite reviewers; your advice is very helpful (for which I am extremely grateful), and you show that you truly read and thought about the story. Gaelrian should make her first appearance in the next chapter, and will continue to show up throughout the story. I'm glad you liked the beginning with Thranduil, as well as Dinnulín's confrontation with the man. I worked hard on the latter, and I am glad you were able to feel the emotion. I'm very happy that you like Dinnulín so much, and thank you for the compliment. I thought it would be interesting to see how Legolas felt after he killed for the first time, because whether it was a good man or evil, I think it would still have had a powerful effect on him, as it would on anyone else. I'm glad you liked it and that it made you think about it and relate to the story. About the blood on the hands thing – don't worry about it. I laughed when I read that part because my beta reader asked me the same thing! Yes, I was speaking (er, writing) metaphorically, . I'm sorry for confusing you, but thanks for asking; this way, if anyone else had trouble, they'll know now what I meant. If you really want to be confused, try taking a poetry class – _nothing_ means what you think Oo. Thanks for wishing me luck in school, I really appreciated it. Actually, though I did stress myself out quite a bit, I wasn't as bad as last semester, and I did very well on the overall semester. Good job on your pre-calculus exam; I've heard that that is a hard class. Thanks again for the wonderful review!

Farflung: Thank you! lol, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope the girl you were tutoring gets a good grade – I know how stressful (and hard) learning other languages can be. Of course Dinnulín would fight back; I wouldn't have it any other way. And yes, the man deserved what he got. I like angst too, and thanks again for the review!

Bedazzled17: Thank you! I'm so glad you're reading my stories.

Echo Despise: Thank you. I'm glad you liked it when Legolas took up the bow. I'm glad I surprised you with Dinnulín and the man, but yes, you are evil. To tell you the truth, I'm a little afraid for my characters . I'm glad you like the way I wrote the chapter; thank you for the compliment! And I'm so glad I finally got to meet you. You know, I still don't remember you being in my gym class (My brain must have been on vacation!).

And now, on to the story (Note: there are a few important notes at the end of the chapter that should help to explain a few things that may or may not have been confusing).

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Chapter Seven: The Search Begins

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The muffled thumping of feet upon wood drifted into his mind. All around him, Legolas could hear the faint blow of the wind, the rustling of trees as they spoke to one another, and the cries of his friends. But it all seemed so far away – all but one sound, a voice that thundered mercilessly in his ears with his every ragged breath.

_ Murderer_.

His heart clenched at the sight of the crimson liquid that stained his once-pure hands. Jamming his eyes shut, he shook his head violently, wishing for the sight to vanish. He opened his eyes, slowly and carefully, and looked at his hands again. They were white. There was no blood. But why did his heart continue to pound in his chest? Why did he still feel so dirty?

Legolas' entire body was shaking now, and he did not feel he could remain standing much longer. He had killed that man. Because of Legolas, a life had been stolen from the living world, never to be seen again. What if he had had a family? Sons and daughters and a wife who were in need of his strong hands and could not survive without him – if this was so, then Legolas had not killed just one Man, but several…

A soft noise escaped his lips, and he found that he could not breathe. Looking up, he saw his friends kneeling on the bridge, all of them encircling a tiny elfling, who sobbed mightily in her brother's arms. Faelon was weeping too. Legolas watched the tears streaming down his face; saw Roccondil, pale as a wraith and crying softly, reaching forward with one hand to grasp his friend's shoulder, keeping the other on the sobbing Dinnulín's back; Lothwen, too, was fighting back her tears. But she was too proud, Legolas knew, to ever let them fall. Instead, she softly stroked Dinnulín's raven head, her lips moving slightly as she whispered comforts to her. Slowly, her head turned, and Legolas' eyes locked on to hers. He felt his heart clench, and his head swim – now they would all know him for what he was, a murderer. But still he remained standing and did not move. Lothwen, however, rose to her feet and made her way to him.

"Legolas?" Her voice was soft as she reached for his shoulder. But, just as her fingers brushed the fabric of Legolas' tunic, her foot grazed something on the ground and she stopped, curious, to bend down. When she rose again, the fallen bow was clasped tightly in her hand and her eyes were dark, "You had to do it, Legolas, you had no choice – that beast would have killed her!"

A harsh cry rent the air, and the maiden started and looked up; a large black crow was circling ominously above them. The sight brought a cool sense of fear that sent shivers up her spine, and Lothwen reached out and took the prince's shaking hand as she moved to run back towards the bridge, "Legolas! We cannot stay here!" But her arm pulled taught and her shoulder jarred as she was pulled backwards. Legolas had not moved. Lothwen's face paled at the feel of his trembling and, startled by it, she pulled roughly on his arm, sending him stumbling forward. "We don't have time for this, Legolas! What if there are more of those men?!"

Legolas gasped as he was torn violently from his daze and he struggled to right his footing. Quickly, his mind took in his surroundings and the angered girl who still held tightly to his arm; with a sharp click, he realized what had happened, and ashamed, he met Lothwen's eyes in a silent apology. Her hard gaze softened, but it did not last, for seconds later she was pulling him down the hill once more.

It was not long before they joined the three elves on the bridge, and Legolas felt as though his heart would stop as he looked with shock and disgust upon the growing pool of blood beneath the dead man's head. A strange mix of emotions began to swell in the pit of his stomach and heart, but before he could recognize them, he was pulled into a fierce embrace.

"Thank you, Legolas," Faelon said through a strong grip that Legolas did not know he had. Clutching to both elves and still sobbing was Dinnulín.

"Come, you three," Lothwen said nervously, "we should get Dinnu out of here."

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* * *

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Malithil wept silently in Istion's arms as Gwinfalas told them of their missing elflings.

"Ai, Istion! They will never survive on their own – Dinnulín is much too young, and Faelon…"

"Faelon is smart, my love," Istion said as he held her closer, "and he is with Legolas. They will keep each other safe."

"Please do not fear for them, Malithil" Gwinfalas said. "The king, Ethirion, and Mírolind will find them. They set out –"

"I will go with them," Istion stepped forward.

His wife clasped his hand and followed, determination mixing with the worry in her eyes, "As will I."

"No," Gwinfalas said and rested her hand on Malithil's shoulder. "The king wishes you to remain in Mirkwood; if they are to reach the children by tomorrow night, their numbers must remain small." Then, at the hesitant looks in the elves' eyes, she added, "Lord Thranduil and Ethirion are fine warriors, and Mírolind can heal the elflings if they are wounded – I promise you, Faelon and Dinnulín will be in capable hands."

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* * *

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Ethirion moved swiftly through his chambers, putting a fresh pair of leggings and a tunic, along with various supplies, into a tan deerskin sack. He still had to collect foodstuffs from the kitchens, and he did not want to keep his father waiting – Thranduil's temper was running short, and the prince did not wish to be the target of his swiftly growing ire.

Hastily, Ethirion stuffed the last of his supplies messily into the sack and, with a final scanning of his chambers, left the room. Sprinting through the halls, he made his way to kitchens, but stopped suddenly when another elf rounded the corner. '_Dínendír?'_

"Caun nín," the elf said when he recognized the prince. "I just returned from your chambers – Gwinfalas said the elflings have disappeared?"

"We found the remains of their merrymaking by the river," Ethirion said hastily, "we fear they have left the forest."

"Ai!" Dínendír cried, and Ethirion was surprised by the stricken look on the normally stoic elf's face. "I fear this is all my fault!"

"Why? What do you mean?" Ethirion's pulse leaped in disbelief. '_Surely Dínendír would never put the elflings in danger…'_

"Faelon asked me for sweat tea from the kitchens."

"…I don't understand."

"He said it was for 'a most secret reason' and would not tell me more…"

"It was for the party, but we found no tea – Dínendír, forgive me, but I do not have time for this. Tell me what it is you mean, or I will have to leave you here; the longer I remain in this hallway, the further downriver my brother gets!"

"Forgive me, caun nín," Dínendír said, schooling his features to calmness. "Gwinfalas said the elflings were intoxicated, and that remnants of a potent wine had been found in their goblets…I fear that was my fault…"

"You gave _elflings_ one of the most potent wines in –!"

"Nay!" The elf interrupted quickly. "I went to the kitchens and asked Galion to prepare sweet tea for Faelon, but he had had wine out at the time, and I think he inadvertently left that for Faelon instead."

"Ai, Valar," Ethirion moaned, raising his eyes to the heavens, "why do you hate me so? Adar is going to go on a rampage – there'll be no stopping him…" He lowered his eyes and they became distant, as though he were gazing at something far off. "We mustn't tell him. Not yet, at least…mayhap when he has drunken too much Dorwinion." Ethirion looked up and grasped the other elf's shoulder. "You have my thanks, Dínendír, but I must go: I have to pack food from the kitchens – and yell at our drunkard butler."

"Wait, caun nín," Dínendír touched Ethirion's elbow as he turned to walk away.

"I wish to go with you."

"I am sorry," he began the speech his father had instructed him to say should anyone ask to join the search, "but the king wishes to keep our numbers small –"

"Please, Ethirion," Dínendír took the prince's hand. "I ask you, as a fellow elf who cares deeply for the lost elflings, to grant me this one request. I have never asked anything of you – I could not forgive myself if anything should happen to Dinnulín and the others…"

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* * *

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The mid-morning sun shone brightly as the four elves walked slowly through the streets of Lake Town. The eyes of many villagers followed them as they went, and Legolas held Dinnulín closer to his body in an attempt comfort her as much as himself. He was used to being watched by others – especially the young maidens in Mirkwood – but they had never made him feel so anxious and uncomfortable; he feared that the humans all knew what he had done, and he swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat.

He raised his eyes from the dirt road and watched Lothwen as she led the group through throngs of people and laughing children. She held her head high and glared at anyone who stared too long, but Legolas could tell she was bothered by the looks as she was walking stiffly, keeping her shoulders squared and her arms by her sides. On his left walked Faelon, who kept his eyes glued to his feet, occasionally raising them to check on his sister. His hands nervously twisted the fabric of his tunic. On Legolas' right was Roccondil, who did not seem at all bothered by the stares, but rather was craning his neck to see as much of the town as possible.

There seemed to be a great deal of activity in the streets and houses, and many children ran past the small group of elves, shouting and laughing as they chased each other. Wooden carts filled with fabrics, breads, fish, and other such goods became steadily more frequent as Lothwen led them further into the town, and small groups of people could often be seen trading and haggling with each other. Jovial, bubbling music could be heard wafting over the loud chattering of the villagers. Not used to such noise, Legolas' ears began to ache, but he ignored it. If anything, he felt he deserved the discomfort.

Suddenly, a harsh cry rent the air and the elves started and turned around. Soon a large number of people were rushing toward the entrance of the town, and the murmurings of "murder" could be heard as the news spread. Legolas felt the blood drain from his face and he looked to Lothwen, who nodded and quickly pulled Faelon into the alley between two old houses. Legolas and Roccondil followed, and when all of the elves were hidden safely in the shadows, Lothwen spoke.

"We have to get out of here!"

"But where are we going to go?" Faelon said nervously. "We cannot go back the way we came – it'll look too suspicious; they will know!"

Legolas hung his head. "I'll go back – I'll tell them it was me. You all should not have to pay for –"

"Do not be stupid, Legolas!" Roccondil snapped. "You know as well as I do that it wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do."

"Exactly," Lothwen said. "If you go back, we all go. And I am not about to have myself – and especially not you – thrown in a dungeon for what that beast did to Dinnulín."

"But how are we going to get out of here? I don't see any other way…"

"Maybe someone can help us?" Roccondil said hopefully as he looked to the entrance of the alley.

"Are you mad?!" Lothwen stared at him incredulously. "That is the last thing we want to do!"

"It could work! Give me a chance – you never let me plan anything –"

"Well, I wonder why!"

"—So how can I ever prove myself?" Roccondil finished in a huff, as though he had never been interrupted.

"What did you plan on doing, then?"

"Well, I can go out and look for someone who will give us passage home. We may even be able to buy a horse or boat?" Roccondil looked hopefully to Legolas.

"I have had enough of boats."

"As have I," Lothwen said, then added "And we do not have any gold."

"Oh," Roccondil seemed deflated. "I forgot about that."

The group fell silent for a time, and Legolas watched the entrance of the alleyway warily. Slowly, he lowered himself to ground, being careful not to jar Dinnulín, and sat with his back against the wall of one of the houses. The rest soon followed, and they all sat, hidden in the shadows, as the people of the village moved past, heading toward the bridge and the murdered man.

They could not stay here, Legolas knew, but he was too worn to think of an escape plan, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything except for what he had done – the thing that had gotten them into this situation. He looked down at Dinnulín and noticed that she seemed to be calming; her eyes were hooded, and her breathing was becoming slower and more regular. She would sleep soon, and judging by her expression and her battered body, she would sleep with closed eyes.

"I still think that I should look for help," Roccondil said quietly. "What have we got to lose? We cannot sit here all day – maybe one of the villagers will not notice that we are elves, and think that we were born here. Then they would help us!"

"I doubt that they would not notice, Roccondil," Lothwen said as she ran a hand over her ear.

"Maybe," Faelon said hesitantly, "maybe he should still try." He looked to his sister, and then Legolas. "I'm worried for Dinnu. She is hurt and terrified; it would be best to get her home as soon as possible…"

"I agree," Legolas said. "But I think I should be the one to go – I don't want anything to happen to you three, and it is my fault that we are in this mess to begin with." He shifted, moving Dinnulín from his lap as he attempted to rise, but the young girl clutched tightly at his tunic, and a panicked look came to her eyes.

"She does not want you to go," Faelon said as he stroked her head. "She feels safe with you, Legolas – you were the one who rescued her."

"Then it is settled," Roccondil rose importantly, "since I am the strongest, stealthiest, and smartest one left, I will go to find help." Then he turned and walked out of the alley before anyone could argue, and disappeared around the corner, moving in the opposite direction of the villagers.

"That is his opinion," mumbled Lothwen as she stretched out her legs. Then she sighed morosely and, like Legolas and Faelon, turned to watch the entrance of the alley in silence.

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* * *

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The horses were restless, stamping and snorting in their stalls as Thranduil and Mírolind waited for Ethirion; they had prepared their own horses, and, when the prince had not arrived, moved on to his. And so, when Ethirion at last arrived, with Dínendír close behind, the suppressed rage in the palace stables was palpable.

"I am sorry for being so late," he said sheepishly, "but Galion was in a stupor, and it was most difficult to prepare the food, as –"

"Be quiet Ethirion," Thranduil glared, "we are already behind." He began to exit the stables but stopped when he saw Dínendír.

"I want to join the search, Aran nín," Dínendír said, bowing.

The king sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to remain calm; it would not do to lose his temper now, as it would only waste more time. "No," he said with forced calm.

Dínendír looked to Ethirion, who moved forward, placed his hand on the king's shoulder, and spoke quickly and quietly. As they spoke, Mírolind, too, moved forward and joined the debate. Dínendír watched nervously, but his expression betrayed none of his thoughts or emotions.

Mírolind met his eyes, and at first she seemed angry, but this was not unusual; she was known, like her father, for her fierce temper. But soon after, she raised her eyes again, and Dínendír smiled inside at the new softness in their depths – it seemed now that he had both of the king's children on his side. He was glad of the support, for Ethirion was known for his skills of persuasion, and Mírolind, though often kind and gentle, rarely took no for an answer.

The three elves spoke for a few moments more, when Thranduil turned at last to address Dínendír. "I have decided that you may accompany us," he moved to lead his horse from the stables, but stopped at the open wooden doors and looked back. "Your skills may indeed be needed," he paused and looked at his son. "You two have five minutes." And with that, he turned and left the stables, closely followed by Mírolind, who led out her own grey horse.

Quickly, Ethirion moved to help Dínendír prepare his horse, and smiled when he was asked, "What did you say to him? Lord Thranduil is not one to change his mind."

"I told him what you said earlier – how you blamed yourself for what happened – and that I feared for your health were we to leave without you," Ethirion opened one of the stalls, and Dínendír called out his horse. "Then Mírolind had a change of heart, and argued that your skills may indeed be needed, and that you would give us an extra horse on which to carry the elflings." Ethirion moved to his own horse, and, after draping his pack across the animal, he continued, "And though my father seemed to see the logic of our argument, I fear he may change his mind if we do not hasten."

Dínendír nodded and followed Ethirion to the stable doors, but before they could move out into the night, he turned, placing his hand on the price's shoulder.

"Le hannon, mellon nín."

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"Caun nín," – My prince.

"Valar" – I'm sure most of you know this, but just in case, I'll give you a simplified explanation of what a Vala (Valar is plural) is. They are the "Powers of Arda" (i.e. Middle-earth) and, with the Maiar, they made the World. I suppose you could say they are gods, and they include, among others, Manwë and, my personal favourite, Varda; she's the queen of the Valar, also known as Elbereth, and is the one who made the stars, and is therefore responsible for the creation of elves. And so, she is said to be the Vala most worshipped by elves, which can be seen when, in the books, her name is sometimes called out in battle. (They also made Valinor, which is where elves go when they sail out of Middle-earth). I hope I didn't bore you with that – I tend to ramble.

"Aran nín" – My king.

"Le hannon, mellon nín." – I thank you, my friend.

Important notes:

Throughout the story, unless I indicate otherwise, when the focus turns to Thranduil and company, it is always a few hours before the events that occurred with Legolas and his group. I thought it would be a bit redundant to keep writing "Earlier…" before every scene, so just keep this in mind as you read.

Secondly, in the last chapter, when I said that Legolas had blood on his hands, I was speaking metaphorically – he didn't actually have blood on him. Sorry for the confusion

Lastly, I'm afraid I must have partaken in some of that wine myself…Did anyone else notice that Dinnulín called the man "Híril nín" (My Lady)? Not only that, but in the translations, I put "Hír nín" and "Híril nín" both as "My Lady." Oops. Anyway, I've noticed quite a few of these inexcusably stupid errors, so I'm going to go through my chapters for a quick, much-needed editing. Also, I will renumber the chapters to avoid confusion (as you can see by the number assigned to this chapter); this way, they will match the number fanfiction.net gives them. This will be done tomorrow, so if it says I have updated, I haven't.

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Well, I'm finally finished. I want to apologise for the very long delay, but school was a hassle and one of the teachers actually gave me an essay due _after _the semester was over. Very odd. So that, and the fact that I just plain slacked off once summer vacation started, is why the chapter was a little later than I expected.

On another note, due to registration difficulties (scowls at sadistic little registrar's office minions) I now have to take a summer course from 6:30 pm to nine, twice a week. However, I really don't think it should be too much of a problem, but I thought I should warn you just in case I pass out from exhaustion on the subway and go missing. . Oh well.

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Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review!

Ethelewen


	8. Escape from Lake Town

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Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, or any of the characters therein; I own only those which I have invented. This story is not written for profit, and I am not selling it on the black market (I don't think I'd get any money anyway...). I write it only for entertainment purposes.

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Melui: Thank you! Yes, it did take a long time for me to do that last chapter; sorry, I had lots of school work demanding my attention. Without me, you would have a better chance at keeping your sanity ;)  
  
Farflung: Thank you! There will be more angst to come, so I'm glad you like it. Oh, and I ust thank you profusely for your use of "muindor" as brother in your review. I looked it up, and I saw that "gwador" and "gwathel," which I had originally had Dinnulín and Faelon calling each other, meant, respectively, a sworn brother and a sworn sister – these terms implied that the elflings were not actually blood siblings. An honest mistake, I think. Right? [blushes] Anyway, thank you for the review!  
  
Echo Despise: Thank you! I hope everything works out with you and your "brother," and I should be reviewing more of your poems soon (you have oh so many! O-O), I've just been working away on this chapter for a while and doing other distracting things. Thank you for the review, and I hope there was enough Legolas in this chapter for your liking. Though, if your review is anything to judge by, I don't think that will ever be possible... ;)  
  
Bedazzled17: Thank you! But, you reviewed for the wrong chapter, lol. I'm happy that you're happy, and here's the next chapter for you ;) 

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Chapter Eight: Escape from Lake Town 

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Roccondil could feel the warm rays of the sun as it climbed higher into the sky, and, looking up, he judged it to be about midday. Scattered birdsong could be heard from amidst the houses, but it was never very loud and was often drowned out by the noisy speech of the town's inhabitants. A plump woman with a stern face and many wrinkles leaned out from her window and, in a booming, annoyingly pitched voice, she called for her son. Roccondil gaped in amazement at the behaviour and watched a little boy, caked with mud and grime, as he pulled himself from a throng of friends and went running to the small wooden house.  
  
The noise in the town increased considerably as Roccondil made his way through what he suspected was the marketplace. He continually heard whispers of murderers and often had to dodge small groups of townsfolk who pushed past on their way to the bridge. He kept to the shadows and followed bands of children, attempting to blend in; there was an odd feeling in the air, and he did not think it wise for him to be seen quite yet.  
  
He followed the road for a time, and soon the carts of goods decreased in number as the road widened into a large, open area. A great number of wagons filled the square, and many men could be seen grunting and sweating in the sun as they loaded and unloaded them with goods. Roccondil stopped and moved to stand by an old cart heavily draped with rich, brightly coloured cloths. As he stood in its shade, he surveyed the people in the square, looking for a group that seemed approachable.  
  
By the eastern wall was a dilapidated wagon with a patched grey tarp and an old, sickly horse. An elderly man walked stiffly around to wagon's back and slowly loaded it with a few small sacks and a single bundle of greyish matter. As he returned to the front, he bent double and Roccondil grimaced when the man's hacking cough reached his ears. Not trusting in the reliability of the man and his horse, the elf moved on in search of healthier-looking transportation.  
  
His eyes passed a ragged man walking from wagon to wagon, and Roccondil watched as he bumped into a well-dressed man and woman. The elf stared, wide-eyed, as the man's hand slipped cleverly into the deep pocket and removed a small brown bag. The thief quickly muttered his apologies and hurried on.  
  
Roccondil stepped back and searched the pockets of his tunic to check for Lothwen's gifts as well as his own few treasures. He had known of the tendency of other races to steal, but he had not seen it before; an elf would never do such a thing. Now wary of entering the square, he looked about him for suspicious characters. A small ways behind him were three bedraggled young men and Roccondil did not trust their shifty eyes; deciding that it would be safer in the crowd and to keep moving, he stepped cautiously into the square and buried his hands in his pockets.  
  
He made his way from wagon to wagon, until at last he found one that looked promising. It was large and made of a sturdy wood, and its tarp was a crisp white and seemingly new. The two brown horses at its front were proud and healthy, and their eyes shone brightly as they watched their owners move about, loading the wagon with goods.  
  
"Excuse me," Roccondil said as he approached one of the men. He was tall with thick strong arms and a beard that covered most of his face; as he turned to the elf, he wiped his brow with weathered grey cloth.  
  
"Yes?" The man's voice was deep and gravely.  
  
"My friends and I need help getting home," Roccondil grinned uncomfortably as the man searched for said friends, and, finding no one else with the child, looked at him strangely. "Well they're not here at this _moment_...I would have to go get them...but I hoped you could take us in your wagon." The elf smiled winningly.  
  
The man looked him over and his eyes lingered on Roccondil's fair face and pointed ears. "No," he said and walked away.  
  
"But –"  
  
"He said no," another man yelled. "Get lost!"  
  
Roccondil fumed as he walked away, determined not to get disheartened. 

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Later... 

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After four more failed attempts, which all ended with him getting told off for his efforts, Roccondil felt as if he would never find someone to give him and his friends passage home. He made his way slowly through the square, his eyes skimming the crowd for promising opportunities. Occasionally, one of the men he had previously asked for aide would shoot him a scowl or turn quickly to avoid his gaze, and one woman in particular could not seem to keep her eyes from him. However, this did not bother him and he refused to be deterred from his task; if he failed his friends, not only would they never let him forget about it, but his pride would be greatly wounded.  
  
At the far south end of the square were a number of men gathered about two large wagons. The wagons themselves seemed to be well cared for, with white tarps and healthy lead horses whose coats shone in the sun. Cautiously, Roccondil made his way over.  
  
When he arrived, a tall, thin man with beady eyes and a long face looked up and eyed him suspiciously. The elf knew immediately that he was not to be trusted, but there was no other choice; he could not risk spending more time wandering about the square for fear of his friends being discovered, and no one else in the entire village seemed willing to aid a helpless (or so he lead them to believe) child in his passage home.  
  
"I was wondering, my lord," Roccondil bowed, feeling it best to plunge straight into his request, using, of course, a small hint of flattery, "if you could give my friends and I a ride to our home in one of your fine wagons."  
  
The man looked him over. After taking in the rich fabric of Roccondil's clothes and his clean, healthy face and hair, he must have deemed the child a worthwhile customer as he continued soon after. "How many friends do you have?"  
  
"Four," the elf smiled. "They're not here at the moment but can be – they are just down the road waiting for me."  
  
"Well, it's going to cost you, friend," the man said as he leaned back against the wagon, crossing his arms.  
  
"What will it cost?" Roccondil asked and dug into his pockets. "I have some dried fruit, a piece of rabbit fur, three feathers, a smooth stone – it's my favourite actually, it can skip across the water at least eight times –, some soil, a button..."  
  
The man cocked an eyebrow and watched as the child pulled out countless articles from his pockets. Just as he was beginning to wonder just how much one could stuff into one's pockets, he grew impatient and barked "_Gold_, boy. Do you have any _gold_?"  
  
Roccondil's head snapped up in surprise, and the words died on his tongue, "Er..."  
  
"How much do you have?" The man's eyes gleamed as he looked down his nose at the child.  
  
"Well, I don't have any, but –"  
  
"No gold, no wagon," he said and walked away. "I don't give charity."  
  
Roccondil stared in shock. Then, quickly his shock turned to anger and he jammed his belongings back into his pockets and stormed off, grumbling about greedy men and their sadistic habits. That had been his last chance, he knew, for now most of the people he passed stared at or avoided him.  
  
On impulse, he looked back at the wagon where he had been so rudely turned away and watched as the men laughed raucously and continued hauling their bundles of goods. He knew that Legolas would not have any gold, but knowing his father, the king, and his great fondness for the stuff, Roccondil thought that perhaps there could be a way to persuade these men to give them passage home. And so he turned back.  
  
However, as the elf drew nearer to the tall, rude man, he decided that it would be best to ask another for the favour; after all, if this man had been inclined to turn away a child once, then chances were he would do it again, seeing as he already knew of said child's lack of funds. With luck, at least one man would not know that Roccondil had already established his poverty and give him passage, and then, with persuasion and the promise of unfathomable riches, hopefully the others would soon see the light and follow in this man's example. Keeping with this plan of attack, Roccondil sneaked back to the wagon, carefully avoiding the sight of the previous, less than hospitable man.  
  
The group seemed almost ready to depart when he arrived at the wagon, and the elf feared that if he was not swift in the execution of his plan, he and his friends would be forced to wait for the king's search party. And knowing Legolas' penchant for causing misdeeds, and thus his ever- increasing lengths of confinement to his quarters, Roccondil worried that such help would not be swift in coming; if Roccondil was king, and Legolas his son, he would not be terribly anxious if the child missed one dinner, as it could be assumed that Legolas, for once, was following the rules of his punishment and remaining in his chambers or, at the very least, sulking.  
  
And so, knowing time was of the essence, Roccondil made to approach the first man he saw; a tall, thickset man with a large blonde head that did not seem to house much intelligence. Perfect. However, just as he was about to call out, another man appeared, walking stiffly but quickly towards the other. Roccondil recognised him as the man from before, and immediately retreated back into the crowd. From there, he listened.  
  
"Hardaran," the rude man called, "what are you doing?"  
  
"Taking a break," Hardaran answered, wiping his forehead.  
  
"From what?" The man said, looking around. "You weren't doing anything."  
  
"I was!" He cried indignantly "I loaded up half the stuff – twice as much as anybody."  
  
"Well, you better keep it moving," the man stepped closer. "Did you hear about the murder, or were you too busy 'loading the wagon'?"  
  
"No, I heard."  
  
"It seems now that elves might have done it. Apparently the arrow had carvings on it, such that could only be done by those forest folk."  
  
"So..." Hardaran said, confused.  
  
The other man seemed to growl in annoyance as he washed his hand over his face, then continued, "Are you blind, or just an idiot? Didn't you see that boy who was here before?" Roccondil blanched and stepped back, hiding himself further in the crowd. When Hardaran shook his head, the man went on. "Well, he was an elf, and probably the murderer too."  
  
"But he couldn't be if he was only a boy, Famdaran," Hardaran said as though this were obvious.  
  
"That doesn't matter!" Famdaran growled. "You don't see elves in Lake Town everyday, and it can't be coincidence that an elf boy should appear the same time a man is murdered by one."  
  
"But Dermta always says elves are nice folk, if you treat them right," Hardaran said.  
  
"Well your wife's in love with anything with a pretty face and you know it," Famdaran said. "Listen, I have a bad feeling about this and I don't want to get mixed up in this town's problems with the elves – I've got enough to worry about back home." Famdaran watched as one of his men dropped a wooden box and scrambled to retrieve the hens that escaped. He ran a hand through his black hair, "Keep loading the wagon. There won't be a break – I want to get out of here."  
  
"So where are we going now?"  
  
"Where do you –"  
  
But Roccondil did not hear the rest for he was sent flying onto his hip as a rather large woman tripped into him. Quickly he scrambled up and helped the woman gather her many purchases. "Forgive me, my lady," he said as he handed her a number of bright cloths and strange objects.  
  
"Well you should be," she huffed and snatched her things from Roccondil.  
  
However, he was not truly listening to her; rather, he was concentrating on the snippets of conversation that he could hear from the men.  
  
"—that forest as soon as possible," he heard Famdaran say and his eyes widened.  
  
"You mean Mirkwood?" Hardaran said, and Roccondil could hear the awe in his voice.  
  
"Of course I do, you fool," Famdaran said crossly. "If you weren't my brother, I would never have let you come. You're as bad as a child."  
  
"Sorry," the man said sheepishly, "I was just asking..."  
  
"Just hurry up and finish loading the wagon. We'll leave as soon as it's finished," and with that, Famdaran turned and stormed off, yelling at a man who was now shoving the chickens back into the crate.  
  
Roccondil smiled and ran back through the square, headed towards his friends. 

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Legolas groaned lightly as he shifted Dinnulín's weight to his other leg and cringed; his left leg was now completely numb, and he dreaded the moment when the blood would flow into it once more and cause the all- familiar, annoying pinpricks of discomfort. His gaze fell once more to the entrance of the alley, and he was glad that he was concealed in the dark shade. The midday sun was shining brightly upon the townsfolk, and often a man could be seen wiping sweat from his brow, or a woman would pass by, fanning herself in discomfort.  
  
Dinnulín was sleeping now, and gently Legolas pushed her tussled hair from her face. The child stirred lightly, but did not wake.  
  
"He's taking a long time," Faelon said quietly from his place beside Legolas.  
  
"He must have gotten lost," Lothwen sighed and shifted her position.  
  
"Do you think someone should go looking for him?" Faelon said, twisting the sleeves of his tunic with his fingers.  
  
Legolas shook his head, "We don't want to get separated."  
  
And once again the group fell silent. Normally, Roccondil would have begun speaking of whatever came to mind in an effort to lighten the mood, and Lothwen would have told him, without true malice, to keep quiet, just to start an argument. But he was not here. Normally, Legolas would have gotten up to explore the trees or to entertain himself by singing or playing a game of sorts, and then Faelon would join him, or they would all devise a great plan of adventure and head off to enjoy the day. But nothing was as it normally was; they were not in Mirkwood, they were not happy and carefree, and their silence was not one of comfortable companionship but of anxiety, sadness, and pain. As he listened to the noises of the town, Legolas felt detached and strangely out of place, as though he were a tree uprooted and placed in the middle of a dusty road.  
  
He stole a glance at each of his friends. Lothwen was staring fixedly at the entrance to the alley, but her face showed no emotion; only her eyes belied the anxiety she felt. Faelon, however, took no pains to hide his own emotions, and he sat, fidgeting with the material of his tunic, as his eyes worriedly scanned their surroundings. Often they would rest on Dinnulín, and Legolas knew Faelon yearned to hold the child, but dared not disturb her.  
  
In a way, he wished his friends would speak to him. He felt as though he had done something terrible and was now being shunned for it, or that he was fragile and would shatter into thousands of pieces at the slightest upset. But at the same time he did not wish to speak. He knew he had done something terrible and he did feel fragile. In truth, he did not know which was worse, the silence or the possibility of conversation.  
  
He sighed quietly and turned his eyes to the alley's entrance. Time seemed to crawl by as the people passed, and Legolas wondered how long it had been since Roccondil left; he was beginning to think that the elf had indeed gotten lost – it would not be the first time, after all.  
  
However, in the next moment the young prince was proven wrong, as Roccondil's head suddenly appeared around the corner. The elf smiled brightly and sighed in relief, then ran quickly to his friends.  
  
"I found a wagon that will take us home," he said hurriedly. "But we have to hurry – it's departing soon...Well, come on!" He added when no one moved.  
  
Quickly the elves recovered from their shock – Roccondil had finally done something right – and rose from the ground. Legolas woke Dinnulín, and she gazed blurrily at him, confused.  
  
"We're going home," he said hurriedly. "Can you run?"  
  
She nodded, but when he put her down and they began to leave the alley, Legolas felt his heart clench when the child limped and gasped in pain. Quickly, both he and Faelon moved to carry her.  
  
Faelon picked Dinnulín up from the ground and handed her to the prince, "You're stronger than I."  
  
Legolas nodded, and with Dinnulín's help he moved the girl onto his back and held her legs tightly to him. When she was settled securely, the elves ran towards the village square.  
  
But this proved more difficult than Legolas had originally expected; the crowd seemed thicker than before, and Legolas struggled to find openings between the people. Repeatedly he was bumped and pushed, and more than once his passing was followed by a creative string of curses. But just as Legolas began to think he could stand it no longer, they emerged at last into the town square.  
  
He looked at the mass of people and wagons and wondered briefly which one would take them home, before Roccondil turned and made his way towards end of the square. There Legolas saw two wagons and a group of reliable-looking men. Perhaps, he thought, Roccondil had actually done something right – a notion that Legolas could grow rather accustomed to.  
  
The group was mere feet before their key to freedom when Roccondil suddenly turned, changing his course, and headed toward a large group of people near the back of the wagon. Legolas looked back at the men gathered around the lead horses, and wondered why Roccondil had not led them there. Lothwen, apparently, had been wondering the same thing as moments later her voice, lowered to a whisper, drifted over the noise of the people, and Legolas turned to face his friends.  
  
"What are you doing, Roccondil?" She said. "Shouldn't we be asking the men for permission to use their wagon?"  
  
"Well," Roccondil blushed and lowered his eyes, "I do not think that would be a very wise decision..."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"I already asked them if we could accompany them to Mirkwood," Roccondil looked up sheepishly, "and they said no."  
  
"So what are we doing here then?!" Lothwen said.  
  
"We cannot just sneak on," Faelon looked anxious. "That would be stealing."  
  
"He's right, Roccondil," Legolas said quietly.  
  
"It's not stealing!" Roccondil said, indignant. "We would have to be taking something from them, and since they are already going to Mirkwood, we are not putting them out of their way, and because the wagon is already loaded, we won't be taking up any space. And so we are not taking anything from them – we are not stealing. They won't even know we are here."  
  
"We are lying then," Lothwen said, exasperated. "Either way, this is wrong!"  
  
"We are not doing that either," Roccondil said, rolling his eyes. "We would have to be saying something to them, something along the lines of "We will not hide in the back of your wagon so that you will give us a free passage to Mirkwood." If we had said that, then, yes, we would be lying. But to my knowledge, not one of us has said anything remotely like that to any of these men, and therefore we are telling no lies." He held out his chest haughtily, crossing his arms. "It is all very logical."  
  
"You only think it's logical because you're stupid," Lothwen seethed.  
  
"I am not!"  
  
"Well then, your definitions of lying and stealing are rather convenient..."  
  
Roccondil sighed, struggling to reign in his frustration. "Listen. We don't have any other choice; I asked nearly everyone in this square for help, and none of them said yes. They all turned me away as though I were something one cleaned from a horse's stall, and went about their business." Roccondil pointed to a tall, dark-haired man near the front of the wagon. "Only this man seemed to even consider letting us on his wagon, and it was only because of his greed that he said no in the end." He raised his nose into the air, and continued with annoyance, "If you lot have any other ideas, I would be glad to hear them."  
  
"I don't" Faelon said. "Do you, Legolas?"  
  
"No," he sighed. "I do not agree with this, but I suppose I can see Roccondil's point. I think we should go."  
  
Lothwen sighed resignedly, "I'll go too. I suppose there isn't any other way..."  
  
"We had better hurry then!" Roccondil said nervously, and the others followed his gaze to where the wagons were slowly moving away.  
  
The elves ran after the wagon and Roccondil opened the tarp and jumped into the back. He took hold of the side of the opening and leaned out, stretching his arm to take Lothwen's hand; when he had pulled her in, he did the same for Faelon, and the three elves waited while Legolas shifted Dinnulín so that he was holding her before him. Legolas held her out to them and quickly they took her by the waist and arms and pulled her in, where she clutched, shaken, to her brother. Legolas soon followed and moments later the elves were sitting securely in the safety of the wagon.  
  
Legolas pulled the tarp closed, and the interior dimmed slightly, but shafts of sun still shone through cracks in the wood, illuminating the cargo and straw that surrounded them. There were a number of wooden crates, some of which clucked lightly and made strange rustling noises, and atop them were clay pots covered in tanned deerskins, tied securely together with long, worn stings of rope. It was hot inside the compartment, for none of the pleasant outdoor breeze seemed able to penetrate the thick slabs of wood, and the straw beneath them scratched and poked the elves as they were bumped and jostled in time with every turn of the wagon's large wooden wheels.  
  
As the wagons trundled from the village and over the wooden bridge, the elves sat in silence, watching the particles of dust as they floated lazily in the golden streams of light. 

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Time passed slowly in the heat of the wagon, and soon Legolas found it difficult to keep himself from the land of elvish dreams. Already Faelon and Dinnulín were asleep, and the two sat huddled together at the far end of the compartment. Even Lothwen's eyes were beginning to take on a far-off look, while Roccondil had been lost shortly after they had left Lake Town. Legolas did not know how much longer it would be until they arrived at his father's gates, but he reasoned that it would not be for some time, and so he allowed his mind to clear as he waited to be taken away by his dreams.  
  
He did not have to wait long. 

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He sat in the middle of his large bed and gazed morosely out the high window. The stars were bright in the sky, and the full moon shone vividly, filling his room with a luminous, almost eerie blue light. Against his chest he hugged a stuffed toy, and occasionally his tiny white hand would stroke the soft fur of the bedraggled fawn. The forest was quiet now, save for the occasional gentle song that lilted on the breeze, sung by elves who had yet to retire for the night.  
  
It had not been a good day, as had originally been planned. His brother, Ethirion, was celebrating his seventieth begetting day, and all of Mirkwood had decided to give him a party to commemorate the occasion. There had been a great many decorations, all beautiful and elegant, and music, dance, wine, and general merrymaking had abounded. Even his Ada had taken great joy in the festivities. Still the young prince could see him dancing happily with his Nana, a fair maiden with hair like Elanor, and he remembered how beautiful the two had looked as they moved about the large grassy clearing, their golden hair and rich clothes illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of the torchlight.  
  
But in spite of everything young Legolas had been distressed. Throughout the party he had not eaten much, though many of his favourite foods had been served; he had passed up any and all meats, and ate only the berries, bread, and sweets. After the main feast, his mother had grown concerned and asked the child why he had not eaten any of the venison, as he had always enjoyed it before. Without much coaxing, the distressed elfling had relayed his tale to the caring ear of his dear Nana.  
  
Early that morning, Legolas and Gwinfalas, the maid of the royal family and close friend of Ethirion, had gone out into the forest in search of flowers, berries, and wood for the fires. It had been a bright day, with the summer sun shining warmly upon the pair as birds, butterflies, and other such peaceful creatures lazed about, filling the forest with song and the peaceful sounds of waking. Happily Legolas had told Gwinfalas of his many adventures with his friends, the stories his Nana would read or sing to him before bed, and of anything he felt the need to impart to the fair elf. Gwinfalas had been a perfect listener; she laughed, applauded, and gasped at all the right moments, and always encouraged him to continue his tales. And because Legolas had known her from the day he was born, he saw her as a sister and was not shy, as was his wont around strangers, and so, for the young prince continuing was something he was more than happy to do.  
  
However, as the morning wore on and the two ventured further into the forest, Legolas saw an increasing number of elves pass by, garbed in muted greens and browns and he watched them in wonder. They had bows in their hands and quivers upon their backs, and so the prince knew they were all warriors; something he too desired to be when his was a strong, tall elf like his Adar. Curious, Legolas had asked his guardian what the elves were doing. She told him simply that they were hunting and that, because twelve- year-olds were much too young to engage in such things, his aid was better suited to the task at hand. But Legolas was an inquisitive elf, and his curiosity had been piqued; his eldest brother, Talagant, his Adar, and even Ethirion and Mírolind would sometimes go out to hunt in the forest and Legolas had always wondered exactly what this activity was. His Naneth had never allowed his siblings or Adar to tell him tales of their hunts. She would always tell them how he was too soft-hearted to understand such necessities, and that she would not risk him rejecting his dinner.  
  
But Legolas was also an intelligent elf, and in a matter of moments his mind was plotting a way for him to get what he desired. He would see these elves in their hunt. Repeatedly Legolas would point to berries and twigs further and further away in an effort to follow in the path of the warriors and Gwinfalas, oblivious to the young prince's plan, had unknowingly played the perfect accomplice. And so, Legolas continued as such until at last he felt they had ventured far enough into the forest to be close on the warriors' heels.  
  
Here Legolas stopped and looked about him. He frowned when he could find no trace of the proud elves with their magnificent bows and quivers, and he decided that perhaps it would be best to continue in his plan. He ran to Gwinfalas and took her hand in his, "Come, Gwinfalas," he smiled, making sure to add a bubbly giggle, which always seemed to make the adults smile and look upon him with warmth and love, "there's berries over there!" And he pointed to a spot further up the path and pulled on the maid's arm.  
  
"No, Legolas," Gwinfalas said and pulled him back to her. "That is too far." The child looked crestfallen and the maiden took pity on him. Gathering him into her arms, she hugged him and looked into his bright blue eyes, shining with innocence and disappointment, and her heart melted. "You do not want to be out here all day, do you? Surely we would miss the party, and poor Ethirion would have no fires to see by and no berries to eat. He would be terribly disappointed, I'm sure."  
  
Legolas was torn. He wanted desperately to see the warriors and watch the hunt, but he did not want to disappoint his brother. If he failed in his mission, he would be letting down all of Mirkwood, and the party would not be nearly as fun...Legolas thought about his dilemma for but a moment more and decided it would be best to turn back and look for berries and wood closer to his home.  
  
He looked up at Gwinfalas, ready to tell her his decision, and as he watched she smiled resignedly and said, "But I suppose we could go a little further..."  
  
"I don't want to miss party" he said and smiled, releasing himself from her embrace.  
  
"All right," she said, relieved, "we will head home then."  
  
But just as the two elves turned to make their way back, the sound of pounding footfalls filled the forest and they stopped and spun around. Suddenly a large deer came crashing out from the trees and bushes, its legs pumping frantically as its eyes shone with fear. Gwinfalas quickly grabbed Legolas and hauled him up from the ground. He clung to her as she ran from the animal's path. Seconds later its powerful hooves trampled the earth where they had been and they watched, shocked, as it moved to pass them.  
  
Its large antlers and powerful shoulders had just rushed by when an arrow emerged at lightening speed from the bushes the animal had leaped from. Legolas' eyes widened as it whooshed by and then, with a soft thump, embedded itself in the back of the animal's head. With a cry of alarm, the animal threw forward and rolled to the ground. Legolas cried out and wrenched himself form Gwinfalas' grip. He ran to the animal and frantically he looked into its eyes. They were glazed and dull, but the panic and fear still lingered in their depths. The deer was dead. A soft moan escaped Legolas' lips, and moments later a voice called out behind him.  
  
"Caun nín," the voice was elvish and coloured with worry. Slowly, Legolas turned around and before him stood Mirthael, a young elf and Ethirion's best friend. "I-I did not know..." he trailed off as five warriors emerged from behind him.  
  
"I will deal with this later," The leader of the party said as he stepped forward. Then he turned and nodded to the group and four elves went to the fallen animal. Before they lifted the animal from the earth, they thanked it for its sacrifice and then turned to Legolas. They saw his eyes, alight with shock, fear, and pain, and they were saddened. Quietly they apologised to the young prince and slowly took the animal away.  
  
The leader, closely followed by Mirthael, walked over to Gwinfalas and in hushed voices the three elves spoke. Eventually they left and Gwinfalas moved to kneel down by Legolas. She did not say anything as she knelt there, looking into the child's pained eyes. Her own deep orbs were clouded by sorrow and gently she took the boy in her arms. For long moments they embraced silently by the side of the path, and Legolas did not fight as tears spilled from his eyes...  
  
Presently, Legolas found himself waiting in his bed for his Naneth. After she had heard of the events of the day, Gaelrian had asked him to wait up for her so that they could talk together. Legolas, of course, had agreed as he treasured his moments alone with his dear Naneth. Silently he watched the stars, letting his mind wander, and he fought the urge to sleep.  
  
He had just begun to wonder when his Naneth would come to him when at last the door pushed softly open. Legolas turned, and he smiled at the sight of his mother framed in the doorway, illuminating the air around her with her ethereal glow. She smiled too and after gently closing the door behind her, she crossed the room to Legolas' bed. She sat down and caressed his check. Legolas leaned into the touch and looked deeply into his mother's warm blue eyes that were so much like his own.  
  
"Are you weary, Laer nín?" She asked softly as she gathered him into her arms. Legolas shook his head and Gaelrian laughed, for she could see the clouds of weariness in his eyes. "You did not have a good day, did you?"  
  
"No, Nana," he whispered and snuggled closer.  
  
"I know," she stroked his head soothingly. "You saw a hunt today...Gwinfalas told me you were very upset." The child nodded. "But you have always known where the deer meat came from..."  
  
Legolas looked up and met his mother's eyes. They were soft and warm and he felt comforted by their depths, as though Elbereth herself had come to him and held him in her arms. His mother smiled tenderly and placed his head upon her breast so that he could hear the steady beating of her heart.  
  
"But you did not understand how it came to be the meat," Gaelrian said quietly as she watched his golden head. "Legolas...sometimes an animal must die so that others may live. That is a reality you must learn. To survive, animals have to hunt and be hunted, and if it were not so then there could be no life. If we did not eat the deer, we would have little meat, and the deer would grow so high in numbers that there would not be enough food for them. They would starve, and that is truly a crueller fate than a painless death."  
  
"But he was scared, Nana," Legolas said and he gripped his mother closer, "they hurt him."  
  
"I know he was scared, but they did not hurt him," Gaelrian sighed and held him closer, letting her chin rest atop his golden head. "An elf would never let an innocent creature suffer."  
  
"Nana?" Legolas' quiet voice was uncertain.  
  
"Yes, Legolas?"  
  
"Do deer go to Mandos Halls when they die?"  
  
"No," She said. "They go somewhere better. Somewhere where all there is are green fields and forests, and sparkling rivers that shine blue and gold in the sun. There is no one to hunt them, and they live always in peace. The land is never buried in snow, and there is always more than enough food. In this place, the animals are forever happy and do not know any sadness or pain."  
  
"I want to see that place," Legolas said.  
  
"Well, do not be too eager" she laughed, and taking his chin in her hand she raised his face to plant a kiss on his forehead, "I don't know what I would do without my little elfling."  
  
Legolas smiled, and asked, "Do men go there too when they die?"  
  
"Why do you ask that?"  
  
"Lothwen told me about a war," he said. "She said her ada told her stories about when elves and men fought orcs and bad men and killed them."  
  
"Well I do not think that in death men would go to the same place as animals," Gaelrian said thoughtfully. "And evil men especially would not." Her brow furrowed, "They would go nowhere pleasant and peaceful."  
  
"How do you know if you're evil, Nana?" Legolas said, and his eyes clouded with worry. "What if I'm evil? Today, I tried to trick Gwinfalas...is that evil? I don't want to die and go someplace scary..." He trailed off with a small shudder.  
  
Gaelrian laughed lightly and hugged the child, "You are not evil, you could never be evil – you are my precious elfling...Even if you are a bit mischievous sometimes." She smiled as she poked Legolas gently on the nose. The child laughed, but the curiosity did not leave his eyes, and so she continued. "Someone is evil when they are always doing things that are wrong, like being cruel and mean to others, stealing, or especially killing. If someone does those things and enjoys them, then they are evil."  
  
"But if it's wrong to kill, then why were we killing the men?"  
  
"Because sometimes there is no other choice," Gaelrian said. "There are some beings that are so evil they will never stop hurting and killing others, and the only way to keep them from doing so, is to take their lives. That is the difference between killing to protect others and senseless murder – if you kill only those who are evil or dangerous, and do so to protect yourself and others, then what you have done is not wrong and you are not evil for it. Usually you are a hero." She looked down at her child and smiled warmly, "Do you understand now, Laer nín?"  
  
Legolas nodded slowly, but then his face paled and his eyes grew wide, "Nana," he cried, panicked, "I _am_ evil!"  
  
"Why do you say that?" Gaelrian said, surprised at the child's sudden anguish.  
  
"Yesterday, a bug bit me – and I smacked it! I'm a _murderer_!" The elfling pushed back from his mother and stared at her, his eyes wide in shock. His small hands gripped tightly to her dress.  
  
Gaelrian could stand it no longer. She had tried to maintain her composure throughout her talk with Legolas, knowing that he needed her to answer his questions and to explain death seriously, calmly, and lovingly, but the way he was sitting there...so pure and helpless, in need of his mother...He was utterly adorable. His blue eyes sparkled with innocence, and his golden hair was tinted with pale blue in the moonlight. His skin glowed softly with the light of elves and he seemed to her a vision of perfection, and Gaelrian felt a burst of pride with the thought that she and her husband had brought him into the world. Something inside of her snapped and her melodic voice filled the room as she laughed helplessly; baffled, Legolas stared at her, all the panic gone from his eyes. Moments later the child found himself pushed playfully to the bed as Gaelrian attacked him with kisses, her fingers working frantically as she tickled his torso and beneath his arms.  
  
Down the halls their laugher carried, rising and falling with the gentle breezes and mingling with the musical voices of the elves as they sang to the stars. Outside, the birds and squirrels who took shelter in the tall trees outside the prince's window awoke from their peaceful slumber and their hearts were lifted by the lilting sound.  
  
And down the long open hallway, sitting at the small desk in his chambers, Thranduil looked up from his work and all his weariness was taken from him as he relished in the laughter of his beloved wife and son, and he was at peace. 

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.........................................................

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Legolas felt a great sense of calm and rest as he slowly awoke from his elvish dreams, and yet he was surprised to feel at peace with the world, something that had been lost to him for years now. In the few restful moments between sleep and waking, he was content.  
  
But he did not have long to relish in these long-lost feelings as he was jolted sideways by a particularly fierce jerk that sent him splaying into the golden straw of the wagon. Startled, he looked about him, and the memories of the past events flooded his mind. Had they been caught? Quickly his head snapped to the end of the wagon where the white tarp rippled in the breeze, but the wooden door remained closed. However, the horses were slowing down, he knew, and it would not be long before the men did in fact discover them. Surely they would not treat stowaways with deep kindness, and so Legolas quickly roused his friends.  
  
"Are we there yet?" Roccondil murmured as he sat up.  
  
"Not yet," Legolas said quietly in case there were men nearby enough to hear. "But the horses are slowing; we cannot be far."  
  
"Right, then, are you going to check?" Roccondil nudged Faelon.  
  
"I'm not going to check!" The elf paled slightly and looked to Lothwen, who had sat up and was now stretching her arms.  
  
"I'll check," Legolas said and crawled slowly to the back of the wagon. Lifting up the tarp, he peered over the low wooden door, careful to keep as much of his head hidden as possible.  
  
What he saw nearly made his heart stop. Before him stretched an endless expanse of green fields, broken only by a single river that flowed crookedly into the distance. It was nearly dark now, and Legolas could hear the bleating of sheep and the calls of men as the wagon trundled on. A lonely cow mooed, and the sound echoed in the prince's ears as he paled.  
  
"Where _are_ we?" He breathed. 

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* * *

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"Laer nín" – "My Song," Gaelrian's epithet for Legolas.  
  
"Caun nín" – "My Prince"

"Elanor" – For those of you who don't know, this is not someone's name! (Well, it could be but here it isn't). It's a golden flower that grew in Lothlórien in the winter. It grew on Cerin Amroth along with Niphredil (a white flower), which is possibly one of the most beautiful names for a flower that you'll ever find ;)

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About the title, is anyone else reminded of Dory in _Finding Nemo_ and the line when she says, "Es-kah-pay...funny, it looks just like escape..." or am I just weird...  
  
Anyway, I have yet another conflict of sources. I was watching ROTK on Sunday night (I got the movie a whole two days early :) ) when Aragorn turned to Legolas at the end and said "Hannon le" (i.e. "Thank you"), but on the internet it says that thank you is "le hannon." Needless to say, I am confused. I try to be accurate, but apparently that is next to impossible, and I'm not about to go through my chapters every time a new way of saying something comes about ;). Oh, well. It doesn't really matter very much, but I am a perfectionist and so it bothers me...  
  
Sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to get the dream done, and well, the characters talked more than I expected them to ;) Also, I wanted to be more descriptive in my writing so that you got more of a sense of the environment and what was going on. The end result? The single longest chapter that I have written thus far for The Enlightenment. My beta reader nearly strangled me when she saw it...

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Well, I'll try to make the next one shorter. Thranduil and co. come back as well. Oh, and about the human names, I'm sorry if they sound strange and don't have any meaning, but...I just made them up. Off the top of my head. I don't know of a way to make Tolkien human names so I just thought for a bit, took inspiration from objects in my office, and then just stuck prefixes and suffixes together until they sounded right. Not very professional, but it got the job done ;)

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Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Please review! 

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P.S., I've simply given up on tabs...FF.net gave me way too much trouble with them. Does anyone know how to get more than one space between paragraphs without having to put a period on every line? It's getting annoying and makes the page look ugly and cluttered.


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